


Thicker Than Water

by karmadog



Category: Dark Shadows (1966)
Genre: Chronic Illness, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 78,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmadog/pseuds/karmadog
Summary: What would have happened if Barnabas's family had not been destroyed in 1795? If they had accepted him for what he was? The story of coping with a disease in the family.





	1. Resurrection and Realization

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on FF.net years ago and have just gotten around to posting it on AO3 now. I'll probably add one chapter a week:)

He remembered Angelique lying on the floor of the parlor, bleeding out her last, cursing him with it. He remembered the bite. That much, he remembered.

After that, his memories grew dim. He had been very ill—ill as he had never been before. The fever, the thrashing about in the tangled bed sheets. He also, for some strange reason, remembered Angelique offering him her aid, nervously watching over his bedside, although why she would do this was beyond him. He remembered his father standing also by his bedside, speaking kind and comforting words—no, that couldn't be right. And Josette, she was there. Barnabas smiled at the memory, although that was a mystery, too. Why would she stand at his deathbed if she had so cruelly torn his heart to pieces?

And then it all came rushing back to him. Angelique's witchcraft. The duel. His marriage to Angelique. A rush of anger flooded his heart just as another realization hit him.

It wasn't his deathbed, otherwise he wouldn't be thinking such thoughts right now. He was alive.

It was that thought that brought him to the present and opened his senses to his environment. He felt soft linen blanketing his back. Around him was a deafening silence, broken only by the quiet scratching of a rodent. His mouth tasted stale. He cracked his eyelids open—that small action took an incredible amount of effort, as if he were prying open a door that had been locked for centuries.

Darkness. So, it was nighttime. Was he in the Old House? He felt the sudden urge to get up—he had no way of knowing the amount of time that had passed since he had fallen ill. Perhaps it had been a week or two. And he felt well enough to arise—other than the lingering lassitude that laced his limbs, he felt good. Alive with the feeling that one always has after recovering from a particularly trying illness. Slowly, he moved his arms outward to find purchase on the sheets in order to lift himself upwards—and hit something.

It was hard. Wooden. With one hand, he felt upwards, to a corner. He was in a box. _What the devil?_

Once again, a realization struck him. He was in a coffin. Immediately, a panic seized him. How far was he underground? How would he get out? Would he die of asphyxiation or starvation first?

He forced himself to calm down. As yet, he had experienced no trouble breathing. And he wouldn't have been buried underground, he would have been buried in the family mausoleum. The reason for his burial was simple enough—his family had thought him dead during one of his deeper stupors, and had buried him, still alive. It happened often enough. And, fortunately for him, he would be able to get out of this situation fairly easily, unlike many other poor souls that found themselves buried alive under mounds of soil. That was it, he would arise, leave the mausoleum, return to Collinwood. His family would rejoice in his well-being. All would be well.

He threw the lid of the coffin open to see Ben's terrified face.

"Ben?" Barnabas asked in confusion. But that was not what came out of his mouth. Instead, a squeak rasped from between his lips. _Probably from long days of disuse,_ he told himself.

Ben, however, seemed to understand. He stuttered, "A-Angelique told me to come here and—"

"Angelique?!" Barnabas roared at the name, but again, it came out only as a frenzied rasp.

"M-Master Barnabas, d-don't be angry with me, she said—she said that I had to come here, because you'd be risin' soon, and, and—" His eyes glanced nervously at an object in his hand. Barnabas followed the movement to see a long wooden stake in his hand. In his other hand was a hammer. His anger once again gave way to confusion.

He focused on taking a deep breath this time, then asked, "Ben, please. Recount what has passed since I have been lucid. Please. Why I am I here? Did my family mistake me for dead?"

At this, Ben went stony-faced. His expression held a hint of fear, probably due to Angelique. The witch had coerced him in some way yet again. Barnabas forced patience into his panicked mind as the family servant opened his mouth to speak. "Well, no one knew where ya was at first, and then Miss Josette and the Countess Dupres discovered ya at the Old House. You was as sick as a dog. Your family did everything they could to help ya, but in the end ya passed away."

Barnabas refrained from commenting on this ridiculous statement. His servant was obviously too distraught to focus on particulars.

Ben continued, "They put ya in the mausoleum 'cuz they was afraid of scarin' the townsfolk with rumors of a plague an' all. But then Angelique comes to me, and she says she needs me, see? She says I hafta find where you're buried. And, you know with Angelique, ya can't go against her. So I find out, and she says I need to make a stake outa holly and go to the mausoleum."

Barnabas drew in another breath. "Did she give any hint as to why?" He had a rising feeling of foreboding. Angelique had been up to more witchcraft. That, combined with him waking up in a coffin, could not bode well. What had the curse been again? _You will never be able to love again, for everyone who loves you shall die. That is your curse, and you shall live with it for all eternity._ Barnabas had no idea how that curse would manifest itself, but he had a feeling he was going to find out.

"Well, I don't know, but she asked me…she asked me…"

"Yes, Ben?"

"She asked me if I knew the word 'vampire'."

Barnabas felt as if his stomach had just dropped down to his feet. Vampire. He had woken up in a coffin. It had been hard to move. He hadn't been able to breath at first.

Of course he wouldn't have been able to. Ben hadn't just been panicked. He'd been right.

Barnabas was dead.

His mind reeled. Of course he knew what vampires were. Perhaps not the most well-known mythological creature, but, with the arrival of gypsies, the myth of the bloodsucking corpses had taken definite hold in the Americas. No one called them vampires here, but Barnabas knew enough of Slavic folklore to know the term.

It couldn't be true. Vampires weren't real.

But then, several months ago, he would have said that witches weren't real, either.

He couldn't breathe because he was dead. He had felt stiff upon waking because he was a corpse.

A corpse.

The words rang in his head like a sonorous knell of doom. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he lifted a hand to his mouth in an expression of disbelief—then stopped short when he felt the cool of his own skin, flaxen and drawn against his skull like a piece of meat that has been in the cellar too long. He suddenly felt nauseous. He clenched his jaw, then abruptly drew in a sharp breath of pain. Running a bleeding tongue over his teeth, he felt the sharp prick of fangs—was that part of the folklore? He'd never heard of it. But it didn't matter. He was dead. He was dead. His mind couldn't accept the fact, and yet intuition told him it was so. Why would Angelique lie about such a thing?

_And you shall live with it for all eternity._

Finally, the revulsion took hold and Barnabas launched himself awkwardly out of the casket. With a trembling hand he grabbed onto Ben's arm. The servant pulled away with a look of sheer terror on his face. The expression only made Barnabas more desperate. "Tell me it isn't so!" he rasped. "It can't be! It can't be!"

"I'm sorry, Master Barnabas!" Ben spluttered fearfully. "She said I had to end it! She said I had to stake ya! But I couldn't. I'm a thief, but I'm no murderer. I didn't know what to do, so I just waited by the coffin, waitin' for ya to rise."

But Barnabas barely heard him. Instead, he stumbled awkwardly to the door of the mausoleum. He needed fresh air.

And then he remembered. He didn't need to breathe.

With a despairing howl, he flung himself into the night.

* * *

The cool wind whipped against Barnabas as he sat on the edge of the pier, his legs dangling into the water. He was numb all over. What did he do next? That was the one question that ran through his mind. And it wasn't, what do I do first, speak to my father? Find shelter? No. It was more as if the rest of his existence stretched before him, frighteningly blank, a terrifying abyss. His mind was so empty it was full. He didn't even know what to think next. He tried to run over all that he knew about vampires, and every piece of remembered information was more horrifying than the next—they were corpses that rose animated from their coffins every night. They fed on human blood. They could be killed by a stake through the heart. They fed on human blood. The symbol of the cross caused them pain—or was that holy water? They fed on human blood.

Well, he didn't find himself fighting an overwhelming urge for blood. So maybe it wasn't true. Besides, would he drink blood even if he felt…hungry for it? He couldn't imagine it. He couldn't imagine making the decision. The thought revolted him. He didn't thirst for blood.

_Yet,_ the nagging voice in his mind told him.

How could he deny it? He sat on the pier, in the same spot where he had perched often in his youth. He found it helped him to think. But this time, it felt different. This time, there was no internal fire to draw into against the cold wind. He was freezing, and not just from the wind. The chill seemed to come from within him. The wind was also fraught with an overwhelming onslaught of smells. Beneath the scent of salt and cooking food from nearby pubs (the smell of which turned Barnabas's stomach) was an entire world he had never noticed before. The old wood of ships, horses, the strong scent of human waste—and the humans themselves. Hundreds of humans, each with an individual scent. Sweat, hormones, and another smell—tangy, metallic, burning just underneath the surface. As if in response to the olfactory overload, Barnabas's stomach grumbled. He was starving. Of course he would be starving—he had likely been in that coffin for a few days. So perhaps he would return to Collinwood after all, since it would not do to show up at a low-life pub for his first meal since "death" in the clothes in which he had been buried. He would return home, celebrate his return with his family, and immediately beg for a square meal. Prove to Ben and himself that Angelique had been lying.

He lifted himself from the damp wood of the pier with a stiff groan and made his way back in the direction of Collinwood. He was halfway to the woods that marked the edge of the town proper when he noticed a man lying on the side of the road, his head pillowed with a couple of flour sacks. An empty bottle lay incriminatingly at his side. He smelled alive—the warm heat still emanated from him, and the smell of sweat was overpowering. But Barnabas could also smell the alcohol on him. Not on him, no. In him. The sharp smell seeped from his body, entangled with that powerful, metallic smell. This was why his father had balked at the idea of him coming down here as a boy; had, in fact, given him a round beating many a time for doing so. The streets were full of inebriated men such as these, especially at this time of night. Barnabas wasn't sure why this particular one had caught his attention—he was accustomed enough to the sight. Perhaps it had been the smell. Such a potent smell—Barnabas had never been able to smell the foul scent of a drunkard from such a distance. But it was something else. And that something else—that metallic scent that seemed to travel straight from the nose to the inner recesses of the mind—was drawing Barnabas in. His stomach growled again—why? Why at this scent? But all thought processes flew from his brain as he greedily drew in another breath and the scent once again rammed into his sinuses. Whatever it was, he wanted it. He needed it.

Instinctively, hardly realizing he was doing it, Barnabas walked stealthily towards the snoring creature, softly, silently. He came to a crouch beside him. The smell was overpowering now, cutting neatly through the wafts of alcohol. Curiosity, that was what it was. He had to know what was making that intoxicating scent. It emanated from within the man himself, sharp and dangerous, just underneath the surface of his skin, gathering most strongly and most noticeably at the crook of the neck, wrists, and elbows. It smelled warm and reminded him of the cold all at the same time, like a fire on a winter's night. His stomach gave yet another protest as if in response to his hesitation. His face was so close to the jugular now, close enough he could almost taste the scent…His gums tingled in anticipation. He could feel the saliva building up in the hollows behind his tongue. His lip curled back across his teeth, revealing deadly points—

They sank into the man's throat.

Blood was often compared to wine—in all kinds of literature, even the Bible. Perhaps due to its dangerous color. Its allure and effect on human nature were often entwined together. But blood was nothing like wine. Wine burned down the throat with a chemical fire, while blood warmed the tongue with the safe warmth of the mammalian body. Wine had a sultry, seducing taste, while there was nothing subtle about the taste of blood. Blood slammed into the roof of the mouth with a sharp taste that stung the nose, like liquid metal pouring down the throat. No, blood was not at all like wine. Its taste was more obvious and insistent, making it seem less dangerous, less immoral, less stealthy. But at the same time, it was everything Barnabas needed, and as it slid down his throat the demon that rose within him gasped greedily for more, not with the desperation of an addict, but rather, the innocent pleading of a starving man. He chugged with all of the ferocity of a man in the desert who has come upon a small pool of water. And even when the source ran out, he continued to move his mouth desperately against the wound, as if by force of will he could produce more of the needed substance.

But no more appeared, and finally, the creature forced itself to pull away from the remains of its meal. The world spun around Barnabas for several moments with the sudden intake of sustenance, as if he had drawn in too much oxygen and his body was trying to make sense of it. He clutched weakly at the flagstones around him, trying not to collapse. When the buildings stopped rocking violently around him and his vision cleared, he took in the horrifying scene before him.

The inebriated man was nothing but a corpse now, an empty husk. His skin was perhaps even paler than that of Barnabas. His eyes stared blankly in terror up at the starry sky above, and his limbs stretched out in the odd angles of a final struggle. And, worst of all, the punctures on his neck—raw and bleeding, staring incriminatingly at Barnabas.

He had remembered the man, the smell, he remembered approaching him. He even remembered that awful moment when his fangs drove into the flesh—but he had no recollection of choosing to do so. It was not him, it could not have been him that wrought such destruction. His mind refused to accept it. It was revolting. It was obscene. He clamped his jaw down to keep from vomiting at the thought—and, running his tongue over teeth, tasted the film of blood there.

It had been him.

So it was true.

He was a vampire.

The thought collided with the sides of his skull but provoked no response from his body, still in shock from both the feeding and the final proof needed to drive home the terrible fact. Vaguely, some instinct, whether human or demonic he did not know, told him that he needed to get out of there, he needed to be long gone when the body was found. Seemingly without prompting from his brain, his legs forced him stiffly upright and propelled him away towards the tree line that was now within view. As soon as he was safely within the forest's depths, however, he gave way to the turmoil that now gripped his heart. A fist pounded into the solid trunk of an oak, frightening away several small rodents and birds. A despairing sound, that sound that is somehow a howl, a sob, and a moan all at the same time without being any of these things, wrenched its way from Barnabas's throat.

* * *

After what seemed an eternity crumpled by that oak, ranting inconsolably at the sky, the heavens, Angelique, anyone who could possibly be a target for his despair and anger, Barnabas finally subsided into that quiet stillness that serves as a bridge from a violent display of grief to something approaching functionality. He waited in this deceptively calm moment for the small inspiration that would urge him to get on his feet again, if only to escape his thoughts with movement. He would go back to the mausoleum. Perhaps Ben would still be waiting for him there. Doubtful, but one could hope. Seeing as returning to Collinwood or the Old House was out of the question, and there was nothing else Barnabas could think of to do, it seemed like the best plan.

When he finally approached that terrible hole where he had first awoken to death, Barnabas saw the dim but solid outline of Ben. The sight of him made Barnabas's oddly still heart flutter abruptly in relief, although Barnabas noted almost apathetically that the feeling was not as strong as it should have been—all of the physical manifestations of strong emotion Barnabas had been accustomed to were but shadows in this cold, lifeless body. He no longer felt the rush of blood in a moment of fear, nor the quick beating of the heart. Perhaps he would learn to live with it. But now the lack of sensation only threw him deeper into the sense of hopelessness that pervaded his thoughts.

He was almost on top of Ben before the servant noticed him. Ben started in surprise, even though he had been staring into the darkness in the direction of Barnabas the entire time. He stared at Barnabas as though he had appeared out of thin air. The hand that seemed to encircle Barnabas's heart tightened a bit more. Stealth was a characteristic usually attributed to predatory creatures—which, Barnabas supposed, would also describe him now.

"Mr. Barnabas?" Ben asked in trepidation.

With just a little hurt, Barnabas realized now what Ben was doing—leaving the mausoleum. He tried not to betray his emotion in his voice, but to no avail. "Where are you going, Ben?"

"I-I was going back to the mausoleum. Where did you come from?"

Barnabas bit back a sigh, knowing it was not worth commenting on Ben's poorly executed lie. Dryly, he responded, "In my new life, I have been discovering that I have some strange and…remarkable powers."

"What kind of powers?" The fear in Ben's voice was very apparent now.

"You will find out soon enough," Barnabas said, still with that humorless tone. A faint wind filled with the smells of animals near wakefulness and the approaching sun drew Barnabas's attention. "It will be dawn soon," he muttered. He was not sure why this mattered, only that it did, and that the drowsiness that was falling upon him would soon render him incapable of making any decisions about his short-term future, much less his long-term one. "We must go into the mausoleum."

It was only a matter of minutes before they were entering the intimidating edifice, looming over them in the nighttime sky. Ben entered first, lantern held out in front of him. Barnabas followed, head bowed to pass under the low entrance. He carefully locked the iron door behind them. He turned to face Ben, then stopped at Ben's look of concern and anxiety.

"Barnabas, ya been hurt?"

Barnabas paused for a moment, confused. And then it dawned on him. Remnants of his earlier meal must have remained on his face. He bowed his head once more, this time in overwhelming shame and guilt. "No."

"There's blood on ya."

He couldn't take this. Not now. The urge to turn his face away, to hide the proof of his revolting nature, was so powerful it was physically painful. So he did.

"What happened to ya?" Ben said more quietly, almost consolingly. Which somehow made it worse.

He could remain quiet no longer. "To me, nothing. But to some unfortunate villager…" His voice nearly broke. He took a ragged, unnatural breath and tried again. "You see, I learned something else about my new existence tonight. I learned that…I cannot survive without blood." The last few words seemed to be wrenched unwillingly from him.

"Without what?" Ben said, disbelievingly.

"Without blood, Ben, without other people's blood." His voice was rising now. He could not stem the quell of grief that was beginning to take hold of him again. "You will begin to hear talk tomorrow about an attack that took place in the village tonight. They will probably think by the marks on the man's throat that it was done by some wild animal, but it wasn't. I'm the guilty one."

Ben's head was shaking before Barnabas had even finished speaking. "But why, why?" His voice was trembling.

At this, Barnabas burst with all the emotion of the night's events. "Because I have need for blood!" He stormed to the small window at the opposite side of the room. "Don't you understand it?!"

Ben pressed his hands to his face. "No, don't say it's true!" he groaned.

Ben's disgust tore through Barnabas like a knife. "You should have gone through with it Ben. You should have killed me."

"Mr. Barnabas, you mustn't talk like that!"

Barnabas ignored him, lost in the widening maw of his own despair. "I would rather be dead than go through eternity…as what I am. What I have become."

Several minutes passed as the two men sat together in silence. The sky began to gray ever so slightly with the first signs of dawn. Barnabas had a growing sensation of discomfort, a cramping in his stomach as well as a feeling of faintness. Some small part of his mind told him that the feeling was due to the coming dawn, but he ignored it. He knew, from folklore, that vampires were most active at nighttime, but he wanted desperately to see the sun rise. He wanted to know that the world still turned, even though his life had been torn to pieces. Besides that, he wanted to stay away from the coffin as long as possible.

Soon, he found himself biting back a moan of pain. The ache was only getting worse as the sky became lighter. Ben's head shot up, Barnabas could see from the corner of his eye. The servant looked at him with a measure of concern peppered with fear. The expression only made it worse.

And then the sunlight streamed through the small window of the mausoleum.

A searing pain shot through Barnabas and he stumbled off of his perch by the window. He vaguely heard himself whimper and hiss as he contracted in on himself, trying to will the agony away. Ben was by his side in an instant. Good, loyal Ben. The servant's mouth was moving, but Barnabas could not make out the words through the haze of pain. What had happened? What had gone wrong now?

He felt Ben support him to his feet. He attempted to stand, but ended up throwing most of his weight on Ben's sturdy shoulder and allowing himself to be dragged back to his coffin. _His_ coffin. He closed his eyes and waited to feel the sting of tears that never came. Or maybe the feeling of them was just swallowed up by the burning sensation along his arms and face. As Ben opened the coffin and proffered him in, two disjointed thoughts pieced themselves together in Barnabas's mind. _The folklore doesn't say anything about this. Is sunshine poison to me now?_


	2. Fright and Forgiveness

The last few days had been the most horrific of Barnabas's life. A week ago, he had discovered that his wife had been the cause of all the misery that had befallen their family. Now he was a corpse…and a monster.

The shock of his new life had not yet worn off, and Barnabas had harbored the thought that it might never do so. Every moment seemed to be the present, and every moment was therefore lacerated with the horror, grief, and self-loathing he felt at the present time. There was no promise of relief from the emotional storm on the horizon, no inkling of red in the black clouds. Years from those first few days, he would say that he had very little recollection of them, because they did not feel at all real; rather, they felt like a horrific day dream.

And so, the third night after he had first awoken to his new life, he stumbled back to the mausoleum, barely aware of the path he was taking, after feeding at the docks. His mind roiled with the recollection of sinking his fangs into flesh and the altercation that had been held between his conscious and unconscious mind, with the former screaming at the obscenity of what he was doing and the latter begging mercilessly for more.

 _Tomorrow, I will attempt to fast,_ Barnabas promised himself. His inner voice seemed louder these days, clanging up against the sides of his skull—as if it was trying to drown out the tumult of emotions roiling just beneath the surface. _Tomorrow, no one will be killed at the docks._

But he knew instinctually that this would not work forever, as an animal, from human to street cur, cannot look forward to an entire life without food. Barnabas highly doubted that a fast would kill him, or whatever it was that this body did when the mind ceased to function for eternity, but that was not the matter in question. The _body_ thought it would die, and the body seemed to win the fight between logic and instinct every time.

Upon reaching the mausoleum, Barnabas opened the iron gated entrance with a sigh. He could already smell that Ben was not here, and the thought made him belatedly, numbly disappointed. The only thing worse than coming back in the dawn to find Ben there was coming back to find him absent. Barnabas craved the company to remind himself that he was still real, but always found himself ill-equipped to act socially when his craving was fulfilled. Ben—sweet, kind Ben—seemed to understand, though, and often stayed with him late into the night to suffer through the long hours with him. But he was probably asleep now. God knows he hadn't gotten nearly enough in the last few days.

Barnabas moved toward the secret room, then paused. Ben might not be there, but there _was_ another smell—an incredibly familiar one, although it had never been so strong before. One that made the small amount of blood he had swell to his heart automatically.

Then came the voice, which, despite its smallness, nearly undid Barnabas. "Who's there?" He whirled around to face none other than—

"Sarah," his voice came out in a whisper fraught with many emotions—devotion, grief, and more than a hint of fear.

His sister's voice, however, held only one of these emotions. "Barnabas! I've been waiting and waiting—"

"You should be home," Barnabas said, beginning to pace like a caged animal. Another habit that had magically appeared after his transformation. He turned his face away, lest she see the remnants of his latest kill on his face. It took every bit of strength not too look into those eyes, eyes which he hadn't seen for nearly a week and had thought he would never look into again.

"I feel asleep," she said, and he could hear the rustle of her nightgown as she stood up. The sweet innocence in her voice made Barnabas close his eyes in a pained grimace.

"You must go home." He forced the words out of his mouth, even though he desperately wanted her here, in his arms.

"Take me home," she pleaded, and it was all he could do not to turn and bundle her up to his now cold chest. _Yes, anything for you, my dearest, my sweetest—_

"Sarah," he choked.

"Please carry me home. I'm so sleepy." With his preternatural sense of hearing, he knew by the sound of flesh upon flesh that she had rubbed an eye. Always the charming little actress. What a love.

"Sarah…listen to me…" Every word was painful. How did he tell her that it was not her, that walking her home was the only thing he wanted to do in that fleeting moment? "I can't."

"Why?"

It was the hurt so evident in her voice that finally forced him to turn. He was already damned, but he would be even more so if the last memory Sarah had of him was one of negligence and apathy, so wholly opposed to what he truly felt.

There was another problem as well. No one would believe the child, but he could not let her run around telling everyone that she'd seen her brother, almost a week in the grave, walking around the grounds. "You must tell no one you've seen me," he pleaded, his voice bordering on sternness as he stared into those wide brown eyes.

Which now contained nothing but pure terror. Then the tears came, pooling above her lower lids. "You aren't Barnabas, you aren't!"

Too late, Barnabas realized what she had seen—a monster wearing her brother's face. Barnabas felt he could have burst into tears himself at that moment, knowing that that would most likely be Sarah's last memory of him. Forgetting all precautions, he pleaded, "I am, I am!"

But this only made matters worse. "No!" Sarah screamed, ducking out of his shadow and throwing her small body out of the mausoleum. The sound was contorted, shrill—it ripped through Barnabas's heart.

"Sarah! Don't go!" he begged. But he did not race after her. Racing after her would only make her react in a way that would destroy Barnabas once and for all, and he was not prepared to submit himself to that final humiliation. After countless nights of trying to convince his beloved little sister that there were no monsters under her bed, he was not prepared to be one of her nightmares. But neither could he allow her to stay out all night in the coming storm.

But it wasn't nighttime. The dawn was approaching, and with it Barnabas's inevitable captivity. But he couldn't think about that—there was a more important task at hand than grieving over the fact that he would never see sunshine again. "There's so little time! Sarah!" he cried desperately.

But it was of no use. She was gone, and, for once in his life, Barnabas was utterly powerless to come to her aid.

* * *

"Sarah!" Ben called. "Sarah!" He thundered through the undergrowth that littered the forest of the Collinwood grounds. "Sarah!" He knew it was hopeless—he could barely hear his own voice over the rasping of his breath and the pounding of his feet and heart. What made him think he would be able to hear Sarah's tiny one?

But he had to keep trying. One look at Mrs. Collins's pleading, worried face had made the decision more than Mr. Collins's thundering order to search the woods until the girl was found ever could have. In the short year that Ben had been at Collinwood, he had developed a strong dislike and fear of the master of the house. However, he had found with little surprise (he supposed it was in his pathetically soft nature) that this had made the rest of the Collins family rise in his estimation all the more. He felt nothing but sympathy for the family matriarch, who, as far as he could tell, bore the brunt of her husband's apathy and short temper and treated others none the worse for it. And Master Barnabas—he had proven to be nothing like his father, with the exception of a frightening ability to change moods quite abruptly. But it was he who had seen potential in Ben, had taught him how to write his letters—and had therefore given him a glimmer of hope when he finally was let loose into the world after his prison term was through. But Sarah—Sarah was adorable, plain and simple. Most children of her age were far from innocent, a word often misused to describe them. But, despite having been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, she bore none of the haughtiness that so many children of her class did. She was nothing but kind and loving, and Ben would never forgive himself if that sweet little girl were to fall ill due to any failing on his part.

As he continued his frantic calls, he had the odd feeling that they were being echoed back to him. He paused in both his running and his calling to listen. The voice continued. "Sarah! I didn't mean to frighten you! I'll take you home, I promise!" it cried in the distance. Then he recognized it. With some amount of confusion, he continued, crunching over fallen twigs and leaves until he came upon Barnabas.

It was still shocking to see him after three days of getting used to the younger man's appearance. He was pale—pale in a very sickly way, as if he was still suffering from a fever and should be in bed. Purpled bags lay thickly under his eyes, making both his eyes and cheeks look frighteningly hallow. He didn't look like the monster Ben knew him to be—to the contrary, he looked too weak to walk. And yet here he was, calling franticly for his child sister.

As Ben approached, the characteristics that marked Barnabas apart from a sickly man became more obvious. He did not shiver, sweat, or pant in the way that he had in the days before…his death. In fact, he stood unbelievably still, as if any movement not made with conscious thought was not worth the effort at all. Moreover, his entire body exuded an aura of tranquility and strength—although one look at Barnabas's face made it clear that that was not how the younger man was feeling at that moment. With a shiver, Ben stepped forward to bring himself to Barnabas's attention. As much as his mind told him that it was unjust to treat Barnabas any differently than he had before what he now thought of as "the Change", the sight of his corpse-like, fanged…he supposed he would call him friend, at that, sent an instinctual shimmer of fear up his spine.

"Ben," Barnabas said upon noticing him.

"What are you doin' here?" Ben asked.

Barnabas gave a half-hearted shrug under the Inverness cape Ben had thought to bring him yesterday. "I'm trying to find her, too," he said nervously.

 _What?_ "Are you crazy?!"

"Ben," Barnabas interrupted hurriedly, "please—"

Ben grabbed Barnabas's arms, for a moment forgetting that he was clutching the arms of a dead man. "Do you want your family to find ya? What about all the townsfolk that are after the Collinsport Strangler? You want them to find ya?"

He watched with mild satisfaction as Barnabas shirked at his new pet name. He moved away, a habit Ben recognized. It was Barnabas's way of removing himself from a tense situation. That, at least, had remained the same—as a living man, Barnabas had usually, in a flash decision, chosen instinctually flight over fight. Ben waited patiently as the younger man turned to the underbrush to gather his thoughts. "Ben, it was my fault. She's lost because of me. She-she followed me."

"Followed ya?"

"From Collinwood.

Ben moved closer to Barnabas. This was ridiculous. "You went to the house?"

"Only—because I had to see Josette. Just see her."

Wonderful. Ben had mistakenly told him that Josette and the Countess were leaving within the week, and he had taken it upon himself to go and rip his heart out below her window. Ben sighed. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to be angry at Barnabas on this score. "Anybody see ya besides Sarah?"

"No. I didn't go in. Sarah…saw me from a window and…she ran out. As soon as she saw me, I turned and ran."

Ben's next question was out of his mouth before Barnabas was finished. "Where'd ya go?"

Barnabas's expression was one of shame. "Well, I—"

"Did she follow ya into the mausoleum?"

"I don't know. I went out there but I didn't go in."

Ben's stomach dropped to his feet. "Where did ya go?"

"I went to the village."

Just as he had feared. He tried to hide the revulsion on his face, but he knew it was too late. The silence beside him was eventually broken by Barnabas's quavering, quiet voice. "Don't turn away from me, Ben. I'm not responsible for what's happened to me." But it didn't come out as a sentence. It came out more like a question. He wanted assurance.

And Ben would give it to him. "I know that." How could he not? No matter what had happened between him and Angelique, the punishment she had given him in no way could have possibly fit the crime. And he knew Barnabas. He had seen him tend to his ill sister, had seen him fret over Josette's arrival with all of the emotional stability of a smitten schoolboy, had seen him sit patiently for hours, giving Ben what was, for all intents and purposes, a free education. And now he drank blood. But he didn't want to. And Ben felt it his personal duty to help him get through this. "You'd best go back to the mausoleum, it's…it's getting' light."

Barnabas turned abruptly towards the eastern sky. "Light! She knows me well, my wife, to put a curse on me that I must live eternally by night. Live. What a mockery I make of that word. For I am truly dead, aren't I?"

Ben didn't know how to respond to this maudlin statement. Sometimes over the last few days, he felt himself on the verge of snapping at Barnabas for his constant out pouring of grief and self-pity. But he bit his lip every time, because he couldn't help but think that if he was faced with the thought of never seeing the sun again, he might indulge in a little self-pity, too. He placed a hand on Barnabas's shoulder. "I'll take ya back."

"No."

"You won't go without me, I know that."

"I want you to keep continuing to look for Sarah." Barnabas looked up at the sky again. "The storm is getting nearer, where can she be?"

"I'll find her," Ben attempted to calm him. "You take care a' yourself, it's almost dawn."

Once again, Barnabas transformed into the worried elder brother that he truly was. "Promise you won't stop, until she's alright."

"Aye, that's a promise."

Barnabas nodded, looking slightly relieved. With that, he moved out from under Ben's hand and made his way back to the mausoleum. Ben continued his calling, disconcertingly hollow in the nighttime air.

* * *

Sarah raced through the underbrush, her hair flying out from under her bonnet and her nightgown catching in the brambles surrounding her. But she did not stop. She had to get home, she had to—if only to get away from that demon that had so cruelly taken her brother's face. It was as if all of her nightmares had come to life. She would have been terrified if she had seen a creature in the woods, blood streaming from its mouth—but this was no creature. It was worse. It was her brother. She felt as if a best friend had lied to her—all the times he had come home from the shipyard and she had run straight into his arms, all the times he had tucked her into bed—and he was a monster.

She had to get home.

But there was a problem—she didn't know the way home. In her terror, she had paid no attention to where she was going. Realizing this, she stopped and looked around. Trees with dying leaves clinging to them, twigs, and darkness as far as the eye could see. She gave a small whimper.

She was lost, and the demon with her brother's face would find her. She had to hide. But where? Her eyes scanned the surroundings, finally alighting on a small headstone.

 _That's where dead people are buried,_ she thought with some trepidation. After the night she had had, she didn't want to go there. But then she thought of the demon, and swallowed the lump in her throat. She would have to. She curled into a fetal position behind the headstone and waited.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity, while the storm that had been a cloud on the horizon when she had been at the mausoleum crashed around her. Thunder and lightning split the sky, and rain that felt like sleet drenched her already muddy nightgown.

A faint rustling broke through the relentless noise, accompanied by a movement in the shadows. Sarah froze. Then the shadow moved into the moonlight, and Sarah stifled a scream.

The demon had followed her. She didn't want to look, she couldn't. She wouldn't watch as her brother stalked through the clearing like a predator.

Halfway through the clearing, right next to Sarah's hiding place, the demon paused, stiffening as Sarah had seen her father's hunting dogs do countless times when they had caught a scent. She closed her eyes, praying that it wouldn't find her.

Her prayer was answered. The demon moved on, leaving Sarah once more alone in the storm.

* * *

Barnabas clung to the wired gate of the mausoleum the next night, lost in worry and guilt. Barnabas was beside himself with anxiety—what if Sarah had fallen ill? At Sarah's age, a disease could be very dangerous, even fatal. Even at his age—he still remembered those hazy days he had spent lying in bed, tossing and turning with fever. Of course, he supposed, looking back on it, that that had been a supernatural disease. Nevertheless, Sarah could be in grave danger, and it was all Barnabas's fault.

A rustling outside alerted him to what he had been waiting for—the arrival of Ben, hopefully with encouraging news of his sister's welfare. With a subconscious desire not to be seen—Barnabas could not tell whether it was due to the constant shame he held for himself now or just a side effect of his new condition—he slunk back to the shadowed corner. The gate creaked open and Ben entered the mausoleum. "Ben!" Barnabas called. Ben froze, then shoved his hands in his pockets, a defensive position. Barnabas normally would have been upset at this reaction to him, but his fear for Sarah took precedence. "Where have you been?" he asked urgently, desperately. "Is she—is Sarah safe?"

"I—I found her in the graveyard," Ben answered reluctantly, "hidin' behind…Mr. Jeremiah's tombstone."

"Is she alright?" When Ben did not reply, Barnabas pleaded, "Well, tell me!"

"She seemed…strange. Scared."

"But she must be over that now."

"There was a…storm. We were…caught in it."

Ben was slowly confirming his fears. "What are you trying to tell me, Ben? Is she alright?" When Ben moved away, Barnabas grew more firm. "She's alive, tell me!"

"Aye, she's that."

But she was ill. Barnabas could hear that in Ben's voice. He turned away for a moment, fighting tears, then turned back. "How bad is she, Ben?"

"Doctors said that…the turning point would come…dusk. Either she'd get better or…" Ben paused, looking lost.

"Quickly," Barnabas pleaded.

"Well, I'm tellin' ya as fast as I can!" Ben said, with a distraught movement of his hands. Then he continued, "She didn't get better yet. Your mother's…prayin' that she will."

Barnabas's voice came out soft and low. "Sarah's…going to die?" He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. Ben nodded solemnly. Barnabas turned away, the grief threatening to swallow him. "And if she does it's my fault."

At this, Ben grabbed his shoulder in consolation. "It's the fault of that curse!" he said angrily, defiantly.

But Barnabas would not be consoled. "If she hadn't seen me she, she wouldn't have run away. "If I hadn't frightened her…If I hadn't been looking the way I was…" The memory still revolted him.

"There's nothing you can do about that now," Ben said. As if that made it any better.

"But what can I do? I…I must see Sarah."

"Oh." At this Ben shrank away. "No. Please don't."

The desperation in Ben's voice, the fear, the revulsion, snapped something in side of Barnabas. "Don't tell me what to do!" he snarled, making his way towards the gate.

"Don't!" Ben yelled, following him, arms outstretched to stop him. As if he could. "She…she can't speak."

At this, Barnabas paused and turned. "What do you mean?"

"She hasn't said a word s-since I found her."

A cool dread made its way up Barnabas's already unnaturally stiff spine. "Why not?"

Reluctantly, Ben replied, "Doctor said there's n-no reason, 'cept maybe fear."

Barnabas shuddered. "I'm responsible for that, too," he said, looking away.

"I didn't say that."

"Well, who else could be!" Barnabas cried. Then a thought settled in his mind. "If I go to her, and she sees me as she remembered me, then she knows…that she will have nothing to fear." He opened the gate, then was paused by Ben's voice.

"Wait." Barnabas turned. "You'll need my help."

For the first time since what Barnabas had begun to think of as "his turning," he felt a faint warmth in his heart. So Ben did care. He didn't help Barnabas out of fear. Granted, he may be scared, and, Barnabas thought with a stab of pain, he had every right to be so. But that didn't change the fact that he was helping Barnabas out of the goodness of his heart. "Thank you, Ben," Barnabas said quietly.

With that, the two men walked out into the night.

* * *

Sarah lay tucked in her bed, watching Cousin Millicent and Ben speak. But she wasn't listening. She was too weak to pay much attention to anything. She felt too weak to even cough, seeing as an angry fire burned up her throat every time she did so. She had never felt this sick before, and it made her scared. This was why her mother never let her go out at night, especially in a storm. Would she get so sick that she'd die like Barnabas? Because, no matter what her mother had said to her, she knew that that was what had happened. She wasn't a dim-wit. She had turned eleven today, for goodness sake! It had been the worst birthday ever, but still. She knew her mother had been trying to make her feel better by saying that Barnabas had just gone away, and for a time she had believed it, because she wanted to. She didn't want to believe that her brother, the brother she loved so much, had truly gone away, like her grandfather and the family dog. Besides, grandparents and dogs were supposed to die. Brothers weren't.

But after last night, she was certain. Barnabas was dead. And that…thing had stolen his body.

She hoped she wouldn't die. But she hoped even more that a demon wouldn't snatch her body like it had her brother's.

Finally, Millicent left. _Good,_ Sarah thought. _Her voice is annoying._

Ben approached her bedside, and Sarah offered him a weak smile. She liked Ben. He was very nice, and he said kind things to her. He had been very kind when he found her in the woods, picking her up and comforting her, keeping the rain away. But mostly she liked him because he was obviously Barnabas's very best friend. And if he was Barnabas's best friend, he must be a very good man.

Then Sarah's mind flitted back to the previous night. Her brother's pale and sickly face, smeared with blood. Barnabas wasn't good anymore. So maybe Ben wasn't, either.

When the door latched, Ben leaned even closer to her. His kindly face wiped away Sarah's previous fears. "Sarah?" He patted her shoulder gently. "You're gonna have a visitor." Sarah's smile widened. She liked visitors. They kept her mind off of her brother.

"Your brother. He wants you to know he's alright."

Or not. Sarah turned her face away. Maybe if Ben saw her distress he would be nice and make Barnabas stay away.

There was a creaking of a door she hadn't known was there before. Of course. Secret passageways. Her mother said they had been built because of a war that had happened before she'd been born. Now they were being used by the demon. The demon that looked like her brother.

She clenched her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn't look at it, it would leave. But it didn't. She heard its footsteps coming closer, closer. Quietly. Almost…tentatively.

She opened her eyes to see her brother's face near the foot of her bed. A wan smile, small and shy, perched on the demon's lips. "Hello, Sarah."

"I'll be outside," Ben said immediately.

 _No, don't go!_ Sarah thought helplessly, but it was no use. Ben was gone.

To her horror, the demon settled itself on her bed and leaned over her. Placed its arms on both sides of her body, trapping her. The stance was almost predatory. Then the demon opened its mouth to speak. But what it said was not what Sarah had been expecting.

"Sarah, I'm sorry you were frightened. I'm very sorry, Sarah," he said sincerely. He seemed to wait for her reply, and when she gave none, he continued. "I want you to get better. Promise me that you will try."

Sarah looked to the side. He was her brother. He was. No demon would have spoken to her like that. He was sorry. And he wanted her to get better. He wanted her to be well.

But even if he was her brother, he wouldn't get his wish right away. After all, he _had_ scared her. She wanted to make him feel sad that he had been mean like that.

So she kept looking away, putting a pout on her face she knew her brother couldn't resist.

Her brother spoke more urgently, more desperately. "Sarah, please. Forgive me, I love you so."

The words came out in a rush, an outpouring of raw emotion. With that single sentence came all the memories of her brother that she held so dear—every afternoon he had spent with her when their father couldn't be around, listening to her read out of some of the family's simpler books with an expression of loving pride, lighting her candle every night before she went to bed, because she refused to sleep without it. He loved her. And she loved him. She didn't know what had happened at the mausoleum…but whatever the case, he was still her brother.

Tears pooling behind her lower lids, she squeaked the words past her raw throat. "Hold…me."

For a moment, her brother looked surprised. Then a warmth spread over his face that lit up his dark brown eyes…eyes Sarah had always heard were very much like her own, eyes they had gotten from their mother. "Yes, Sarah," he breathed, as if holding her was all he had ever wanted to do, as if he would be content to do so forever. He took her in his arms and pulled her to his chest.

They remained like that for an incredibly long time as the candle at Sarah's bedside burned down to a faint ember. Her brother's arms and chest were incredibly cold and immobile—there was no warmth or the promise of a beating heart to comfort her. But all the same, he was her brother, and as held her through the night, rubbing her back to warm her, she knew that that was enough.

She would keep her promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, the scenes are pretty much all straight from Dark Shadows (except the ending, of course). That will change.


	3. Love and Loss

"Do you have to leave so soon?" Sarah whined, clutching to her brother's arms.

"Yes, Sarah. You need to get to bed," Barnabas chided warmly. Disregarding all of Ben's half-hearted warnings to stay away from the house, Barnabas had taken to visiting Sarah nightly, as soon as he was sure that their mother was no longer near. Sadly, there was no danger of the governess Victoria walking in on them—she had long since been jailed for witchcraft. Unjustly as well, Barnabas knew. But it meant that Barnabas had an easier time sneaking in to see his sister. He felt that those clandestine meetings, though perhaps selfish on his part, were the only barrier between him and insanity at this point. Holding Sarah's small body, reading to her quietly in the dim glow of her bedside candle, made him feel a measure of normalcy again, however small.

"You'll come tomorrow?" Sarah said. It came out more like a command than a question, but it was a command to which Barnabas was happy to comply. Besides, the sound of her voice, now strong and healthy, warmed Barnabas, a warmth that was desperately needed.

"Now, remember, this is our little secret, understood?" he said conspiratorially, placing a finger to his lips. "Mother and Father cannot know of this, otherwise they might be very angry at me." Sarah nodded vigorously. This had become a nightly ritual as well. Although terrified of discovery, Barnabas's need to visit his sister always won out—but that didn't mean he couldn't take precautions.

Tucking her in to bed, Barnabas knew that this couldn't last forever—his sister would age, and with it would come the knowledge that dead brothers weren't supposed to be visiting their sisters at night. When would the questioning begin, and when would she refuse to keep their secret any longer? Barnabas didn't know, and he hadn't the heart to mull over that particular topic at the moment.

As Barnabas walked along the secret passage that led from Sarah's room to the kitchens downstairs, and from there to the fields behind the house, he heard a rustling from the walls. He froze. He had not realized how paper-thin the walls were, that such a movement could be heard from his position. Had anyone on the other side heard him, his footsteps, the swish of his cape?

He forced himself to calm down. Much as he hated to admit it, he was a predator, and a supernatural one at that. When one is afraid of discovery, one's body reacts instinctually, walking more carefully and breathing more shallowly. His changed body did this as well—it just did it much better than the average person's. Without even realizing it, he could walk as softly as a wolf with padded paws, move as carefully as a nimble cat when the situation called for it. No one would have heard him, or he'd have a stake through the heart by now.

His next thought was one of confusion—who was in there? If his sense of direction was true, none of the family or servant chambers were on this side of the house, save Sarah's. At this time of night, with the sun long since set, no one would have reason to waste a candle in a room in which they did not intend to sleep.

Then he realized—it was a guest chamber. That meant it had to be either Josette or the Countess, as Aunt Abigail, Millicent, and Daniel had left a few days earlier in lieu of the tragedies that had taken place at Collinwood. The Countess and Josette, however, had been deterred by a storm that had delayed the departure of their ship to Martinique. Barnabas wasn't sure if this was a blessing or another curse.

Although he knew it was foolish, Barnabas lifted his face and gave a small sniff. The fumes that wafted slowly under the door drifted by his nose, and he caught the unmistakable scent of jasmine. So it was Josette who occupied that room.

Josette. Both the name and the scent filled him with incredible longing and grief at the same time. Josette was beautiful, that went without saying—the graceful way in which she walked, the way her dark, luscious curls fell around her soft, feminine face, which was always displaying an all-encompassing smile. A smile that often been directed at him.

But it was more than that. Josette was kind, intelligent, attentive. She possessed those qualities in a measure that few possessed, a measure that had made Barnabas fall for her the first night he had met her. It had seemed forever ago, that evening in Martinique when he had first been invited to the DuPres estates to take supper with them, a nicety that came after almost a month of business with Josette's father. He remembered when she had first come waltzing into the foyer, donning that radiant, welcoming smile that Barnabas loved so much. The dinner was held with the intention of providing a comfortable, more relaxed environment for Andre DuPres and Barnabas to get to know each other before sealing the deal on the Collins business providing the shipping of the Frenchman's goods, but Barnabas had spent most of the night conversing with Josette. Josette had, to Barnabas's surprise, kept up easily with the topics of conversation at the dinner table, very firmly stating her opinion on political points, including both the American and French Revolution, the latter of which her family had quite coincidentally narrowly escaped. He realized that many would have thought this ill-befitting of a woman of Josette's station, but Barnabas found that it only intrigued him and endeared her to him more. Later, Barnabas had seen that, contrary to her opinionated nature, she also could display a very soft and caring side, as well. He had watched her play with Sarah (after which she could do no wrong in Barnabas's eyes) and had seen the sincerity and interest in her eyes whenever she inquired about his life, his family, or his occupation. Even her imperfections were perfect—her absent-mindedness, her cloyingly unrealistic optimism, her habit of dissolving rather quickly into tears—all these things brought a smile to Barnabas's face upon remembrance. She was the woman he wanted to come home to. She was the woman he wanted to raise his children. She was the woman he wanted to grow old with.

Then his smile fell. She had married another man. True, this was due to witchcraft and nothing else, but the fact remained. And, as if that were not hopeless enough, an even more terrible truth remained, a truth that meant he would never have children. And he would never grow old.

Barnabas bowed his head and willed himself not to give any outward signs of grief. Some said that, when a person is about to die, their life passes before their eyes. He didn't remember any such thing happening to him, but as he stood in that cold, dank hallway, listening to the sounds of the love of his life preparing for bed in the next room, he thought he saw _a_ life go past his eyes—the life he was supposed to have, the life that was now a distant dream. A few months ago, his life seemed to be falling into place—the woman of his dreams was coming to marry him, his father approved, they were going to be a married couple for as long as they were to live. But now he was dead, and she was clothed in mourning black for another man. An unwanted, selfish thought passed through his mind briefly, but he made no move to stifle it. _It isn't fair._

Maybe it was. He hadn't meant to toy with Angelique's heart—he had thought that she had seen it as nothing but a passing dalliance, too. Their affair had petered out long before he had ever met Josette. Perhaps she had changed her mind when faced with the stifling humiliation of watching none other than her own mistress snatch up what she had seen as her own only a few months before. Perhaps if he had returned to the United States (he was still having trouble calling it that) and married a nice girl from Massachusetts, none of this would have happened. He would not be a fairytale monster now, pining outside of his once-fiancée's chambers.

Barnabas gave a sigh that he quickly realized might have been too audible. He clamped his mouth shut, listening intently for some sign of reaction from the adjacent room. When there was none, he slowly, carefully moved on. There was no use stewing over could-have-beens.

* * *

Josette sat in the Collins's parlor, perched on a plush chair, trying to focus on her needlework. Her intention had been to give it to Sarah after her wedding when she had started it, but the amount that had happened since then—her marriage to another man (quite unexpected, even to herself), his subsequent death, and the death of the man she was supposed to have married, the man she loved, had pretty much obviated the project. She had picked up the ornately embroidered handkerchief with the calligraphic letters _S.C._ stitched into them (the C was only half done, falling like a backwards apostrophe to the lavender embroidering) again if only to give her hands something to do. The storm, which had been raging on and off for the last few days, threw rain against the wide windows at the other end of the room. Josette sighed and slammed down her needlework in her lap. She had nearly begun to cry when she had heard news that their ship was delayed. She hadn't wanted to stay another moment in the house where she had brought her parents to shame and watched the love of her life die, much less what was turning out to be a week. It was stifling. No matter what Barnabas had said about witchcraft being to blame for her unfaithfulness, she still felt shame and guilt at the thought of what she had been made to do. Whenever a member of the Collins family walked into the room, she felt like she was rude to inhabit it after what she had done to their family name. She couldn't meet any of them in the eyes. But that wasn't the worst of it. Every day, she had to walk past the place where they had loaded Barnabas's coffin into the back of a carriage and transported it to the mausoleum. The sight of that coffin, and knowing that in it lay the empty shell of the man that she was supposed to have grown old with, had made her fall to pieces. Being forced to relive that memory over and over was even worse.

The sound of small footsteps broke Josette's reverie. She looked up to see none other than little Sarah Collins staring at her. "Why are you crying?" the small voice queried.

"Crying?" Josette responded, confused. She wiped a hand across her eyes, and her lace cuffs immediately dampened. Sarah was right. Honestly, could she hold back tears for one minute, or was she doomed to wearing her heart on her sleeve for the rest of her life?

When she looked up, Sarah was still staring at her. She loved Sarah, but she had to admit, that girl could be eerie when she wanted to be. From her expression, Josette could tell that she was still waiting for an answer. She sighed. "Well, sweetie, many things have happened in the past few weeks, and many of them were very sad. My husband, well…he went away, for one thing."

"You mean Uncle Jeremiah died," Sarah said, and Josette was taken aback by her abruptness. She knew that word? "But weren't you supposed to marry my brother?"

At this, Josette shrank back on herself. How to tell a child that seemingly adored you that you had broken her beloved brother's heart? She decided to skip that subject entirely. "Well, yes, and I'm also very sad that he's…gone away." By this time, she realized that the child knew the euphemism, but Josette didn't feel comfortable telling a child that their favorite person in the world was dead in such a blatant manner.

Sarah seemed to mull over this thought, then frowned, as if she were debating something in her head. "You'd be happy if my brother came back, right?"

"Well, yes," Josette said, even though she wasn't sure this was true. Did she really want the man whose heart she had torn to pieces to come waltzing through the door right now? Not particularly. What she really wanted was just to travel back in time several months…maybe years.

The girl finally seemed to decide upon whatever it was she had been debating, and turned her face up once again to Josette's. "Well, I like you, and so does Barnabas. I'm sure he wouldn't mind me telling you. He just said not to tell Mother and Father. And that means you can't tell them, either." After seemingly gauging the reaction on Josette's face (Josette herself was not sure what the girl saw there) Sarah leaned in and said in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, "Barnabas didn't actually leave."

Josette's heart dropped to her stomach. "What?"

"It's true," the girl said, donning a mischievous smile. "He's been visiting me every night for the last week. I don't know why Mother and Father are saying he's gone away, but he doesn't want them to know he's still here. You won't tell, will you?"

Still in shock, Josette simply responded, "Oh, no. Of course not."

Seemingly satisfied, the girl bounced back. "Good. I'll see you at dinner, then?"

Josette nodded weakly, and the girl pranced back out of the room. Of course, the girl's brother was not back. Josette knew for a fact that he was buried in the Collins family mausoleum, never to return to his sister again. But the fact that Sarah seemed convinced that he not only was alive, but was visiting her every night, was highly disturbing. A form of denial, perhaps? She did adore him so. It would probably be best to inform either Mr. or Mrs. Collins of this—it could not be healthy for Sarah, to believe in such fanciful imaginings.

* * *

A few weeks ago, the long table in the Collinwood dining hall had boasted every seat occupied, Joshua noted—Daniel, Sarah, Millicent, Josette, Barnabas, Abigail, Jeremiah, the Countess DuPres, Naomi, and himself had all sat around the nightly banquet, exchanging niceties and filling the hall with the clatter of cutlery. Now, three of that number had left quite hurriedly, and two of them were dead. The remaining half of their once full household did not make nearly half the noise they had back then—and, although, at the time, Joshua had been extremely agitated by the constant noise and intrusions upon his privacy, he found himself now wishing that noise back, if only to take his mind off of everything he had lost. For one, there was every shred of dignity the family name had ever held—in eloping with the uncle of the man she was supposed to marry, and quite publicly, too, Josette had wrought humiliation upon them all. At least she could escape it by returning to Martinique. He, on the other hand, would have to endure the sneers of fellow businessmen, clients, and even his common workers. On top of that, his son had decided to turn his back on his father by marrying a common servant girl. A housemaid, of all women! If Joshua had felt betrayed by his brother, he felt even more so by his son, albeit less surprised.

His son. There was that loss, too. Who would the business go to when he passed away? Fall to the hands of whoever Sarah married? He had no male heir now, and that was a failing, even in these modern times.

But it was more than that, he knew. Barnabas was by no means what Joshua would have called an ideal son—he was soft in spirit but firm in opinion, throwing too much heart and too little brain into anything he pursued. He had no mind for money—he was alternatively lavish and frugal at all the wrong times. He was disobedient, but always in a way that made Joshua feel the fool for punishing him—how does one punish a son whose greatest fault is that he spends too much time attending to family matters to deal with those of business? How many times had Joshua insulted him, humiliated him in front of the family servants, saying that his devotion to family was almost womanly and unbefitting someone who was to become the head of a household and business?

It was true—Barnabas was not the ideal son. But that didn't mean that Joshua was happy with the fact that the last act he had done in regards to his son was disinherit him. He didn't count visiting him on his deathbed—the boy had barely been conscious, and when he had been he had incoherently mumbled about bats. No, the last memory Barnabas would have had of him would have been standing in Joshua's study, standing there defiantly as his father ripped him away from the fortune and business he had planned his life around—the fortune and business Joshua himself had encouraged, practically ordered Barnabas to plan his life around. Or maybe his last memory was of his father's absence—his absence to his son's wedding ceremony with Angelique. Either way, it wasn't exactly comforting.

Joshua hadn't questioned it when Angelique had fled from Collinwood. Her husband was dead, and there was no fortune left to her to sustain her. The remaining family had not welcomed her, although Naomi had done her level best, Joshua knew. There had been nothing for her here. Joshua found himself wishing he could flee as easily—in spite of himself, he found himself hearing a knock on the front door and thinking it was Barnabas come home from the shipyard, only for it to be a merchant inquiring after shipping. Or he would accidently tell a servant to give instructions to Barnabas as to the construction of a new ship, only to be asked, quietly and with pity, if he meant the foreman. Or he would see the doors to the stables wide open, and prepare himself for a confrontation with his son (the boy loved riding), and would abruptly realize that the deed was done by a servant. The ensuing beating would always be much harder than he had meant it to be.

It was not as if he had ever truly felt affection for the boy. But, nevertheless, the table was disconcertingly empty.

The main course just finished, Joshua had decided he'd had enough. Better to spend hours alone in the study than alone surrounded by family. He cleared his throat, "If you will excuse me, I have pressing business matters to attend to. I apologize for leaving the table early, but it can't be avoided. If you should have need of me, you will find me in my study." With that, he lifted himself from his chair and made his way towards the exit nearest him.

The entrance to the dining hall was still in view when he heard the rustling of skirts behind him—too many for a servant girl. He spun around to face Josette.

"Sir, may I have a word with you?" she asked, breathlessly. She seemed to have jogged the length of the hallway.

"How may I help you?" he said in a tone that he hope conveyed you-ruined-my-family's-reputation-talking-to-you-i s-the-last-thing-I-want-to-do.

Josette must have picked up on the tone, because she said, "I am very sorry for intruding on you, sir, and I understand that you would have no reason to enter into conversation with me. However, this is a matter that might be of importance to you."

"And that would be?" Joshua asked disbelievingly.

"Sarah."

Joshua gave a long-suffering sigh. "If there is something amiss with Sarah, you might do better taking it up with her nanny."

"I thought Miss Winters was…well…not available for discussion."

"She was the governess. I am speaking of the nanny. Charity, I believe her name is. If it is an urgent manner, you may speak with my wife." Perhaps he had said the wrong word…he had spoken more French in the last few months than he had in his entire lifetime.

"It's…it's something I thought I should bring to you, sir." She waited, and when Joshua gave no reply, she continued. "I do not think Sarah is taking her brother's death well. Earlier today, she told me that she was…well, being visited by him. I was worried that such denial might be unhealthy, especially for a girl of her tender age."

"Well, that is to be expected. He spent more time with her than anyone else. But I will see to it that things are set straight. She will see reason, never fear."

Josette didn't look entirely satisfied by this response, but it would have to make do. Although he had to admit that imagining that her brother was visiting her was a strange way for Sarah to manifest her grief at his absence.

But it was not as important a matter as Josette seemed to think it was, that was definite. Joshua turned and made his way back down the hallway, snorting at the folly of women.

* * *

Josette stepped out into the night air, and, for the first time since the beginning of the whole sordid ordeal, a feeling of calm enveloped her.

She wasn't sure why. She had been told earlier that day that her dead fiancée was mysteriously up and on his feet, and, more recently, had watched as this matter was disregarded by the father of the man himself. And, too add to that stress, she was walking about at night without a chaperone, highly inappropriate. But she needed it. The fresh night air, the freedom from the stifling rooms of Collinwood…and the memories.

Feeling daring, she took a path through the woods that was often used to traverse between Collinwood and the Old House. The grounds were far from silent on that summer night, filled with the chatter of nighttime creatures. The white noise soothed Josette further. She pulled her shawl closer and allowed herself a small smile.

A snapping of a twig awoke her from her reverie. Her eyes snapped open to survey the black woods around her. Nothing, save for endless trees and fallen branches and leaves. She had just allowed herself to relax when she saw something flit out of the corner of her eye.

Fortunately, she wasn't stupid enough to holler, "Who's there?" seeing as it was most likely that the shadow was an animal, perhaps predatory, that would not understand a single word of French. She studied the blackness into which the shadowed figure had disappeared, willing her pupils to widen to see through the lack of light. Her body was rigid. She forced herself to breathe more naturally. _It will hear you, perhaps even smell the fear on you,_ she told herself. Finally, the shadow came fully into the light.

Josette screamed.

Barnabas gave a surprised yell as well, backing up and nearly tripping over a protruding root.

"Oh, my God, Barnabas!" Josette shrieked at his cowering figure. She then said the obvious thing. "You're…you're dead!"

Still backed up against the trunk of a tree, Barnabas seemed at a loss for words. "I—I—" he rasped, then swallowed and ran his tongue over his lips. He spoke again, his voice clearer. "Josette, I can explain."

Josette, however, was not at a loss for words. "You're dead! I saw them take the coffin out of the house! Why are you here?! You're dead! You're not real! I'm imagining this!"

"Josette, Josette, there was a mistake," Barnabas said in a rush. "I wasn't dead."

This finally got Josette to close her mouth, only to open it a few moments later. " _What?_ "

"The-the doctor must have made a mistake," Barnabas stuttered. "I-I woke up…in a coffin…it was terrifying…"

"My God," Josette breathed, still in shock, but recovering ever so slightly, "they buried you alive?"

"I…" Barnabas looked lost, confused, in that way that had always made Josette's heart melt. She flung herself at him.

"Oh, Barnabas, I can't believe what you've been through! Sarah was right, you are back!"

"Sarah…?" His voice didn't seem confused, just…distraught. Of course he'd be distraught. He'd been buried alive!

"Oh, my dear, it's alright, it's alright," Josette soothed. "Why didn't you come to Collinwood? Have you been out here for…what, the past two weeks? Where have you been sleeping? What have you been eating?"

At both of these questions, Barnabas seemed to shrink in on himself, and Josette chastised herself for immediately bombarding him with questions when he had obviously been through enough. "Come, we'll get you back to Collinwood. You need a good, hot meal. You look starved!" It was true—his face, usually flushed with exertion or simple liveliness, was sallow and pale, almost beyond recognition. Hollow cheeks clung to his jaws, and his eyes were hooded by dark bags that made him look deathly ill. Nothing could be seen through his cloak and waistcoat, but Josette was sure that there would be ribs plainly visible under there.

At this, Barnabas pulled abruptly away. She was about to ask what the matter was, then realized why he might not be talking so much. From the sounds of it, he had spent the last couple of weeks hiding in the woods and speaking only to his young sister. And here she was, speaking to him in rapid French, and expecting him to keep up. She had been so used to growing up with the language of diplomacy being her first language, it was sometimes easy to forget that not everyone had been speaking it from birth. No one at Collinwood, even little Sarah, had had much of a problem speaking in French to her—they were educated, after all, of course they would know the language well. She had never spoken to Barnabas in anything but French. But perhaps it was time to accommodate. He had been through an ordeal. Maybe hearing English would give him a sense of normalcy.

"Love?" she attempted, slowly. "Will you return to the house with me?"

Barnabas made no sign of recognition, and Josette wondered just how heavy her accent sounded to him. But finally he sighed, a sad smile playing on his lips. In impeccable French, he said, "It's alright, dearest. But I cannot return to Collinwood."

"Why ever not?"

"I—" Again, Barnabas seemed at a loss for words. Finally, he said, "It's not just…I've been more than buried alive. The illness…changed me."

"How so?" Josette breathed, anxiety welling up inside of her.

"There are certain things about my body…that are very different now." He seemed to be struggling for words. "I…it's always cold. I seem…not to be able to provide my own warmth. My blood is cold."

Josette nodded. Strange, but she was no doctor. Obviously his illness was of a more chronic nature, more permanent. She remained silent, an encouragement for him to continue.

"It seems…my skin is quite sensitive to the sun. I burn quite easily…almost immediately, in fact. I am practically incapacitated during the day."

"Oh, how horrible!" Josette said sympathetically. She knew the great affinity Barnabas held for the outdoors. Pale, blue skies, the sun slanting through the trees…this was the world he loved. And his illness, if it were indeed permanent, would keep him perpetually from those moments that gave him the most peace. Josette couldn't imagine a Barnabas that lived in a world of drawn shades and nighttime hours…she had always found his boy-like enchantment with the summer sunshine so endearing. The thought made her want to cry.

But that still didn't explain her question. "How does that prevent you from returning to Collinwood? To civilization? Surely your illness could be tended to more adequately under the supervision of your family and a doctor."

Barnabas looked down at his shoes, which were practically worn through and splattered with what looked like mud. "My…my diet has changed considerably."

"How do you mean?"

"I…I cannot…"

"You are made sick with everything you eat?" Josette queried gently, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, which stiffened curiously beneath her touch. Barnabas nodded, not meeting her eyes. That would explain his emaciated appearance. "But you should still come home. We'll take care of you."

"No…it's more than that, Josette," he said, his voice so soft she could barely hear him.

Josette gave a sigh, half exasperated, half disbelieving. "How much more could there possibly be?"

"I…my illness sometimes takes such strong hold of me that…that I am like to appear dead. Returning to my home would only place a burden on my father, and would horrify my mother."

Josette spoke softly, kindly. "It didn't horrify your sister."

A small sigh, almost a sob, caught in Barnabas's throat. "It did at first."

Josette wasn't sure what he meant by that, and wasn't brave enough to ask. All she knew was that Barnabas was clearly suffering, both in body and in spirit, and was refusing more than treatment—he was refusing shelter. She had suffered so much when he had died, knowing that she had betrayed him, knowing that they would never share a life together. Now, he was miraculously alive, and she wasn't about to lose him to his own stubbornness. She had never taken the vows with him, but the promise still rang through her head— _in sickness and in health_.

"Come," she said, encouraging him up with an arm under his shoulder. "Let's get you back to the house."

"No!" Barnabas said, flinging himself away from her with such force that Josette was almost thrown backwards. "No, Josette! Please, accept that I am gone! Accept that we can never be all that we had planned to be! Don't tell my parents. Please. It would be the worse for me…and for them. Please," he pleaded, his wide brown eyes gazing into Josette's imploringly.

Josette stared at him, at a loss for words. She didn't know how she could fix this. And she needed to fix it. She wouldn't feel right until she did.

"Alright," she said finally, in slow, careful words. "I will abide by your wishes…on the condition that we may meet again, here, tomorrow night, when the clock strikes ten. And I will bring you food—"

"Don't bother," Barnabas muttered sadly.

"It will be dry."

"Don't bother," Barnabas simply repeated.

Josette sighed. "Alright. Tomorrow, then?"

Barnabas said nothing, and Josette took that as a yes. She turned to go, but Barnabas's voice stopped her. "Josette…thank you."

Josette turned slowly. _Don't cry. Don't cry._ Then she saw Barnabas's face, crumpled and lost, and the tears came anyway. She flung herself into his arms. "Oh, Barnabas, I miss you so much," she breathed into his shoulder. "Don't ever die on me again."

Barnabas made no such promise, but his arms wrapped more closely around her small frame. Josette supposed that would have to be enough for now.

* * *

Barnabas woke up in the stillness that he was fast becoming accustomed to. His eyes cracked open on utter darkness, and he felt his heart make the traditional fall when he realized that he was waking upon yet another night of his miserable existence. His lips curled into a painful sneer as he went through the daily debate over whether he should expend the unnecessary energy of opening the lid of the coffin to crawl out into a dark and dreary world or remain hostage in his lonely cell of memories.

Then he remembered. His meeting with Josette! He flung the coffin lid open and stumbled out, barely registering the irony that he should be leaping out of a coffin to ready himself for courtship.

Not that there was much to prepare. His clothing, the finest his wardrobe had held and which were intended to rot forever with him, were becoming threadbare, caked with mud and dried blood. Ben had been incredibly thoughtful, stealing both his cape for sorely needed warmth and his cane, which, once merely a fashion statement, had become a crutch when he had been taken by sudden bouts of lack of energy and pain. But they looked incredibly out of place over the ruins of his burial outfit. Both Ben and he had decided, however, that it would be useless retrieving more clothing from the house—most of it had been burned to keep disease from spreading, Joshua would notice if to many of the remaining ones went missing, and it would be pointless, as they, too, would become testaments to Barnabas's horrid existence within the course of a few days. So he simply wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself, so as to hide the worst of the carnage from Josette.

Barnabas took one look around the empty mausoleum—he had told Ben that he wanted to be alone when he rose that evening—and left through the iron gate.

Several minutes later, he was standing at the exact spot where he had met Josette the night before. The smell from the previous night hadn't been washed away completely by the rain, which was now dying down. The scent of Josette's jasmine filled his nose, as well as the meal of pheasant she had eaten the night before, her adrenaline, and the collage of smells that was Collinwood and family. Barnabas breathed deeply, letting it soak into him and alight all of his memories.

As time drew on, Barnabas began to worry. Not that Josette wouldn't come if she could—her fear and concern for him last night was so evident, it practically made Barnabas sick with shame. Rather, it was the content of their upcoming evening. How to talk to a fiancée who thought you dead the last two weeks? And what were his intentions? Certainly he did not want to rekindle their romance. It would be impossible to do so publicly for several reasons, Barnabas couldn't even get a handle on his life as it was, and it wouldn't be fair to Josette.

_Because you want to see her again._

The thought came unbidden to his mind, but it was true. His desire to see her, her ringlets falling around her sweet face, her blinding smile, to hear her soothing voice, to feel the touch of her soft hand—all of these things drew him to this spot like a moth to a flame.

He froze at the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves. "Barnabas? Barnabas!" came Josette's voice, rasping through the woods in a stage-whisper.

Of course. She didn't have the sense of smell to know she was several hundred yards from their meeting place. Barnabas raced through the woods until he came upon her diminutive form. Clothed in mourning black, she was facing the other direction. Her chesnut hair was full of brambles. Barnabas smiled with affection and called back.

Josette whirled around, and the sight of her made Barnabas's heart soar with an intensity it had not had since his turning. It was all he could do, when faced with the familiar contours and lines of the face that held such strong and positive memories for him, not to gather her up in his arms.

"Barnabas!" she whispered in a dizzying mixture of delight and concern. "How are you faring this evening?"

He gave a small smile. He had lied blatantly to her last night, and the memory filled him with guilt. Here she was, thinking that he was ill and in need of care, when in reality he was a murderer, a monster that needed to be destroyed.

But everything he'd said last night was true. He was constantly cold, he burned in the sunlight, he grew ill at the sight of food, and he was so sickly he appeared dead. If that could evoke sympathy, than wasn't the sympathy Josette displayed for him justified? His lie had been by omission.

Which was just as worse.

"I'm well enough," Barnabas said simply.

Josette came up to him, embracing him forcefully. Barnabas felt a stab of pain at the gesture and nearly lost his balance—he had not fed for two days, and he was beginning to feel faint. The tantalizing metallic smell of blood running just beneath the surface of Josette's soft skin was not helping matters, and Barnabas ceased his breath to hold the scent off.

Josette seemed to notice this and looked up. "Barnabas? Shall we sit? You don't look well."

"Where?" Barnabas said, gesturing to the wilderness around them.

Josette walked over to a fallen, lopsided log and perched on it, looking up at him expectantly. God, he loved her.

After they were both seated, Josette began, "So, what are your intentions?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, surely you don't mean to stay in these woods forever. How are you to survive?"

Barnabas wasn't sure how to answer that. Since he wasn't sure he was living, surviving was also a word under consideration.

Josette took his chin in her hand and turned him to face her. "Barnabas, I will be leaving Collinwood and the United States soon. By all accounts, the fiancée I came to marry is dead. Nothing I can say will change that. If you do not act soon, we will likely never see each other again."

This sent a pang through Barnabas. _There's nothing I can do, either,_ he wanted to say, but he couldn't. How could there be so much time for him and yet so little? "Josette, we cannot marry. You know that."

"The entire town knows Collinwood was plagued by witchcraft! You think it will be so hard to convince them that my mockery of a marriage was also a product of Angelique's evil scheming?!"

Barnabas was taken aback. He'd almost forgotten that he'd told her that Angelique was the guilty one, not Victoria. "That's not all that is barring our—"

"And what else is there?! Has your disease affected your mind, too?!"

"Even if I could return to my life, do you really want to be tied to a man plagued with my illness?! I cannot dine with you! I cannot take walks with you in the sunshine! I cannot even provide you with a warm embrace!" At this, his voice broke, and he caught himself before his weakness was made more apparent. Quietly, he said, "You would be sentencing yourself to a life in marriage to a broken man, Josette. I love you too much for that."

Josette bit her lip and turned away. Barnabas saw in her eyes, with some small despair, that she had given in. It wasn't the first time in his life he'd been upset over winning a duel. It was an odd feeling. Josette took in a small breath and, still not looking at him, whispered, "I would have sentenced myself willingly, if you had let me." With that she stood up and, obviously refusing to look at him, began to walk away."

"Josette, wait!" Barnabas said without thinking. All he knew was that he wanted to see her face one more time. Josette fulfilled his unspoken wish, turning around, her deep, chocolate eyes brimming with tears. Barnabas didn't know what to say, so he took off his ring—the black onyx ring he'd been buried with—and held it out to her, his long arm looking weak and uncertain in the moonlit clearing. "Here," he said, choking back emotion. "I wanted to give this to the woman I married, but since my marriage was a sham, and I will never meet another woman in my life whom I would wish to spend it with as I do you, it is yours."

Josette remained silent for a long moment, then wordlessly plucked it out of his hand and placed it on a shaking finger. "Barnabas, I—" she began, but seemed to think better of it. She turned away and began to walk into the darkness, leaving Barnabas once again utterly alone.

* * *

Joshua sat at his desk, twirling a quill slowly between his fingertips. He had barricaded himself in his study with the intention of getting a fair amount of work done, but he had ended up spending the last half hour starting a letter of business to a client concerning the delay caused by the storms, then throwing the parchment away and starting afresh after the opening sentence. The events of the last few days had not been conducive to focusing on work. Sarah supposedly seeing her dead brother, animalistic murders in town. Preposterous, but never the less concerning.

Joshua nearly snapped when there was a knock on his door. "Come in!" he yelled impatiently. The door creaked open, and Naomi stepped tentatively inside. God, what did she want now?

"Joshua?" she said timidly. "The DuPres family is due to leave tomorrow, what with the storms receding. The Countess desired to meet with you over the arrangements for traveling to the dock tomorrow.

Joshua sighed and placed down his quill. "Very well." That family had caused enough trouble. Every time his concentration was interrupted by one of them was a time that Joshua was reminded just how much he wished to be rid of them.

Five minutes later, Joshua entered the parlor, where the Countess stood at his approach. "I suppose you will want our carriage tomorrow," Joshua said brusquely.

"If you would, I'd like to wait until Josette is down here."

"Fine," Joshua snapped. The Countess gave him a withering look but said nothing.

It was another five minutes before they heard the creak of the stairs that heralded Josette's arrival. Her slipper-clad feet were the first to arrive. Then came the rest of her, in black, of course. Joshua scowled. Yet another reminder of the fact that she had brought scandal on the family and that his brother was dead. Joshua noted, furthermore, that she looked distracted—even more so than usual. Her eyes were at the same time spacy and darting nervously from person to person. God. What was wrong with her now? Joshua wondered what Barnabas had ever seen in the silly girl.

"Miss Josette." He refused to call her by her married name, for several reasons. The Countess arched an eyebrow, not failing to notice this. Joshua ignored her. "Your aunt is adamant on you being present for our discussion of travelling arrangements. I will send Ben with you to the docks in our carriage at, say, half past ten o'clock tomorrow morning. I believe that shall be ample time to board the ship. I trust that is sufficient for you?" he asked the Countess pointedly.

"Indeed it is," she responded primly.

Then he turned to Josette, still directing his voice to the room at large. "There is one more matter that we must attend to before you leave. As you know, I have told the public that Barnabas has gone to England, to allay fears regarding the plague. You two know this is not true, that in fact my son has passed away. I will have your word that you will speak the truth of this to no one, not even in Martinique."

The Countess made a noise of affirmation, but Josette simple stared at him, her eyes growing wider. Ridiculous girl. What had her worried now? She seemed to almost tremble, her lip moving slightly as if she were considering saying something. Then she seemed to think better of it, and looked away, twisting a ring on her finger.

That ring. Black onyx, the band engraved so uniquely that it could not belong to anyone else. Joshua gave an uncharacteristic intake of breath upon the sight of it. It was Barnabas's. The one he'd intended to give to his true love.

The one he'd been buried with.

"Where did you get that?" His voice came out in a whisper.

Josette looked down at that to which he was referring, then turned as white as a sheet. "I—I—it's mine," she stuttered.

"No, it's not," Joshua said, his voice rising with the beginnings of anger. "It's Barnabas's."

The Countess's voice, obnoxiously logical, interrupted them. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Collins." Her emphasis on his title, inferior to hers, made Joshua bristle. "It is common enough to possess an onyx r—"

"I buried my son with it!" Joshua nearly thundered. "I know what it looks like!"

Naomi's quiet voice interjected. "Joshua, please—"

"Did you steal it?" he said, glowering accusingly at Josette. "After all you've done to this family, and you stooped to robbing a grave? My son's resting place?"

Josette's eyes were brimmed with nervous tears. The Countess whirled on Joshua. "Have you taken leave of your senses? What reason would she have to rob his grave? And what right do you have to torment her like this?"

Joshua was readying a retort when Naomi said softly. "Joshua."

He turned to look at her. Her eyes were red, filled with water. "Joshua. Please don't do this. Not now."

This gave Joshua pause. When he turned back to the Countess, still scowling, he was surprised to find an expression of sympathy on her face. "Mr. Collins," she said, this time with no hint of condescension. "I know that it is hard for you. You lost your son, and I can only imagine what you're going through right now. But Josette is not to blame for his death. Please, desist with this folly."

Wanting to maintain a modicum of dignity, Joshua drew himself up to his full height and huffed. "I shall see you on the morrow," he said gruffly. "Countess DuPres, Miss Josette," he said, inclining his head to each of them in turn. With that, he turned and stalked out the door.

Maybe he was going mad. Certainly, no affection for his late son would have made him react like that. But he could not so quickly disregard the similarities between the two rings. Whether or not he confronted Josette over the matter again, he would survey his son's coffin as soon as possible. It would at least quiet his nerves.

* * *

Barnabas sniffed the air, drawing in a plethora of scents. The chill wind that made him draw his cloak around his now constantly shivering body brought in hints of summer plants, salt water, and…prey. Yes, he smelled humans. But he wasn't going to think of them like that. Not today.

Good God. He was already thinking of humans as "them". He was a human.

A cannibalistic one.

Well, he had been a human. Now, he was crouched in the woods that covered the Collins ground, putting his nose to the air like one of his father's bloodhounds. Tonight, though, he was determined not to go down to the village. He would hunt for blood, but not that of an innocent townsperson.

He stiffened instinctually when he caught the scent he was looking for. Course, warm…meaty. Deer. They ran constantly through the grounds, driving the bloodhounds wild. Surely if he needed blood, that of an animal would suffice. The thought of sinking his fangs into raw flesh instead of eating it cooked at the dinner table with fork and knife was revolting, but no more revolting than what he had been doing for the past two weeks—an act that Barnabas was becoming desensitized to disturbingly quickly.

Barnabas crept through the forest, slowly, carefully, in the direction of his meal. At his careful rate, it took him several minutes before he came to the edge of a clearing, where one solitary deer stood, bathed in moonlight. Barnabas hesitated in confusion. It wasn't eating anything. And why was it alone, at this time of night?

Then he saw it. The creature held one of its front hooves up to its cocoa-colored chest, in an uncertain stance. Barnabas could smell the fear and adrenaline running off of it. It was in pain. It was injured. Suddenly, Barnabas was having second thoughts about this. He had no desire to kill innocent villagers; was killing innocent, defenseless animals much better?

Barnabas scowled and shook his head. This was ridiculous. His family had venison regularly. His father and he had gone on multiple hunting trips together, using weapons that made the power difference laughable. This might actually be a fairer situation, really. Fang on fur. It was natural.

Barnabas steeled himself and waited for the right moment, calling on instincts he hadn't had a couple of weeks ago. It didn't take long. The moment the creature took one limping step, Barnabas launched forward, toppling the creature, which yelped out in pain. Now fully focused, Barnabas had only one goal, one thought: down the prey. And he did. With a feral growl Barnabas would never have thought he could possess, he sank his fangs into the jugular, gulping at the liquid that was quickly becoming very familiar to him. It wasn't human, that was apparent. And Barnabas could tell, just by the taste, that it wouldn't hold him forever. But it would do for one night. Perhaps even two. And every night was another life.

Barnabas was so engulfed in his meal he almost didn't recognize the scream for what it was. But he did, eventually. He took one last swig and dragged his face from the limp neck of the creature, his mouth still dripping with blood. What he saw made his limbs freeze.

It was Josette. Wrapped in her ever-present black shawl, she stared at Barnabas, a look of horror etched across her face. That one expression ripped Barnabas apart. Not now. Not again. This time it hadn't even been a human. It had been a deer. A deer! Not even knowing what he intended to do, he stumbled forward, reaching out to Josette with a pleading hand. "Please, Josette. Please. It's not…"

"What. What," Josette stumbled backwards, tripping over a fallen branch, "was that? My God, what are you?! Where's Barnabas? What are you?!"

"I'm not…I'm not…"

"You!" Josette seemed to be at an utter loss for words. "Barnabas?"

Barnabas didn't know what to say, suddenly very conscious of the blood dripping, sticky and disgusting, from his chin. He remained silent, failing to meet Josette's eyes.

"Barnabas? What happened to you? Why?"

The last word came out so plaintively. With one word, Barnabas's world seemed to shrink into an indescribably small point. He bowed his head. "Why…are you here, Josette." It was a statement. He found himself too apathetic to actually form it into a question.

"I…I thought to see you, one last time. Barnabas, what is this? What…what are you?" Her voice was soft, out of fear or concern Barnabas did not know. Perhaps both.

"I…I don't know, Josette." Josette's face was still contorted, this time in a look of utter disgust. Somehow, it was even worse than her previous expression of horror. He couldn't handle it anymore. "Josette…please. Don't tell anyone."

Josette gave a small sob. "No one would believe me. I'm hallucinating. God, this isn't real. Please. It can't be real."

Barnabas could offer no words of comfort, so he simply looked down at his knees, utterly debased. Josette uttered one last sob, then scrambled away, slipping on a root in her frantic exit. Barnabas didn't chase after her. It would have done no good. He didn't even look up. He didn't want his last vision of the woman he loved, the woman he would have contentedly spent the rest of his life with, to be of her running away from him in fear and revulsion. How many of the people he loved would he have to see do just that? Barnabas pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling a moan. Angelique's curse would follow him through all eternity. Of that, he was utterly certain.


	4. Discovery and Denial

Joshua closed the door to his study quietly, looking furtively down the hallway. No one. Of course there was no one. The two ladies of the DuPres family had left earlier that day. Sarah was supposedly asleep, and Naomi was probably drowning her sorrows in her chambers over her recently deceased son. Good. Not that he was doing anything wrong, but he wasn't keen on explaining to his wife that he was going down to his son's grave to inspect a possible case of grave robbing. So he walked slowly, carefully down the stairs, tucking his favorite pistol beneath his vest. Throwing his cape around his shoulders, he walked out into the chill air, closing the doors behind him.

As he drew nearer to the mausoleum, his apprehension rose. Joshua had never been superstitious, and had been the first to scoff at the flighty notions that had been running up the Northern coast. Nevertheless, he couldn't deny the sense of foreboding that was beginning to slither into his heart.

A rustle came from behind him. To his chagrin, he nearly jumped at the sound. Forcing himself to turn around slowly, he watched with no small amount of surprise as Ben bumbled through the underbrush into the clearing that surrounded the mausoleum.

"Ben? What are you doing?" Joshua said with a palpable measure of impatience.

Ben seemed not to have realized he was there, because his shaggy head shot up in surprise and…fear? "M-Master Collins…" he began, haltingly.

Joshua's small hint of patience dissipated almost immediately. He had no time for the fool's blabbering now. "What the devil are you doing out here? At this place? I gave you no leave to do so," he barked.

"I—I finished all my duties for the day, sir, so I thought I might take to the night air, ya know, just—just for a bit."

"You? Taking a stroll?" Joshua's impatience manifested itself in condescension. "Whether or not you take such privileges is not yours to decide. Get back to Collinwood. Now." His voice took a stern edge, an edge he knew brooked no disagreement.

But, for the first time, Ben, prison rat, blustering illiterate, did not back down immediately. Did not bubble over with apologies. "Sir…sir…you're goin' into the mausoleum?" he said, with a note of trepidation in his voice. His eyes flickered to the darkening sky briefly.

"That is no concern of yours." The nerve!

"Sir…" Ben's voice was quavering now. "Don't do it. Please. It's…let 'im rest."

Joshua rounded on him, ferocious now. "Excuse me? Was that an order?" He watched with satisfaction as his servant cowered under his gaze. "Do remember that is my power that has brought you out of prison. And it is my power that can place you back in it." The last words were practically spat.

Ben seemed to waver for a minute, then turned tail and left as quickly as he had come, his large feet crashing against the fallen twigs. His anger having wiped away all of his misgivings, Joshua turned and walked into the mausoleum without a second glance.

* * *

Barnabas woke up in the darkness of his coffin. Before the familiar depression could take hold of him, he noticed a difference in the stuffy atmosphere. He froze. What was it? Two weeks, and it could still take him a few moments to understand the information his radically changed senses were giving him. But it was getting faster. This time it only took a couple of seconds to realize that it was the scent. Normally, the mausoleum reeked; stuffy air, years of filth, and, above all, rotting corpses. It was that smell, above all, that turned Barnabas's stomach. The stench itself was bad enough, but it was the knowledge, the awful truth of the fact that he was one of them, that made him sick. Not rotting, perhaps, but cold, dead, and revoltingly lifeless just the same, for the majority of the day. Fortunately, no one had ever seen him like that. He thought. There was no way to be sure. And that thought was the most terrifying of all.

But today…today it smelled different. The scent was muted through the fine, solid wood of the coffin. But it was there nonetheless. Warmth. Worn fabric. Sweat, covered up with the heavy scent of incense and perfume that everyone wore to cover up the constant stench. The metallic scent of blood, the scent that made Barnabas salivate in spite of himself. And another familiar scent…a scent that Barnabas couldn't place, a scent that drove both anger and a growing sense of trepidation into Barnabas's now too often apathetic heart. But it was no matter. He briefly considered lying in his coffin until whatever grave robber it was went away, but then he realized…if they were a grave robber, they'd probably open his coffin. And he could pretend, but the idea of lying there, willingly looking like the corpse he was, while a stranger probed his clothes for trinkets, was too disgusting to consider. Besides, it would be an easy meal. And if he was a grave robber, Barnabas might not even feel too much guilt over it.

Slowly, he lifted the lid. There was no need to rush—it wasn't as if his prey would be able to escape him. The wooden lid creaked and moaned under the movement. Barnabas froze when he heard a familiar voice speak one word, in a tone of utter terror and grief that Barnabas had never heard accompany it before. "Barnabas?"

Barnabas opened the lid and sat up stiffly. He looked straight into the horror-filled, flinty eyes of his father.

"Is this true?" Joshua muttered in an almost inaudible whisper. Then, as if the question had just been an excuse to hold off belief, he muttered, "It is true."

God. Not now. Not so soon after Josette. It had only been two weeks, and already four people, people whom Barnabas would have described as close, had discovered his terrifying secret. He was through with pretending. The lie had not worked with Josette, and it certainly would not work with his father. He crawled out of the coffin, biting through stiffness, wanting the movement to look as natural as possible. Wearily, almost caustically, he said, "What is true, Father? What," he said flatly, forcing himself not to feel anything as his father turned away, covering his mouth in revulsion and fear. His father…fear. The two words did not belong in the same sentence. And it had been him that had inspired such a mixture.

His father finally turned back to him. "I do know what is true," he said, slowly. "I was in the room with you when you died. I listened for your heartbeat myself." His voice quavered frighteningly on these words. Barnabas hid his shock; his father had taken such care after his death? He had felt such emotion in regards to it? "I sat by your cold body until they…until they brought the coffin. I went with them when they carried it into the mausoleum." He turned away again, covering his mouth with a shaking hand once more as he said with rising voice, "This is a terrible nightmare, I'm imagining it!"

"No, you are not, Father," Barnabas said, with no hint of consolation. He had none to give anymore, least of all to the man that had always put business above his own children. No matter what he had done at the hour of Barnabas's death.

"Then…you live?" Joshua said, his voice wavering between disgust and hope. He turned back to face his son. Barnabas found himself wishing the man would make a decision in the matter.

"Yes." On this score, it might do to let his father swallow the fact that he was alive before telling him that he actually wasn't.

"Oh." Joshua's voice was tinted with confusion.

"A curse," Barnabas replied to his unspoken question.

"A curse? Who believes in curses, who?!"

"A curse has given me eternal life," Barnabas said forcefully. This might take some time.

"Another fancy," Joshua scoffed.

"It is not a fancy!" That was too much. He had to live with it, and now here his father was, belittling the ruin of his life, just as he had belittled everything Barnabas had done. "I cannot die as I am, do you understand that yet?!"

"You have given me nothing that I can understand!"

"I cannot make you face a simple fact. You run around ignoring everything I say." This, at least, felt familiar. It was a scripted argument that had passed between father and son many times. "Your gun cannot kill me, is that plain enough?" Joshua's head shot up, and Barnabas felt a shimmer of satisfaction. His father had apparently hoped that Barnabas would not notice it. Well, too bad. "It cannot!" Barnabas turned and paced away. He couldn't face his father's look of disbelief anymore.

Barnabas heard a derisive scoff from behind him. "You make it sound as if you are one of those ridiculous creatures the legend of which has spawned such an uproar in the villages. A demon of some sort. Are you telling me you've been caught up in such nonsense, too?"

Barnabas turned to face his father with what he hoped was a serious expression on his face. It was a serious matter. Apparently he succeeded, because his father's expression turned once again from one of condescension to one of overwhelming disgust. "You think that, don't you? You think that you are a demon. You are mad. My God, have you been causing the attacks in the village with your madness? Are you the one they're calling the Collinsport Strangler?"

That name. Barnabas wanted to turn away in shame, but he would not. Not in front of his father. His silence must have been answer enough, because his father spoke again.

"And I am to what? Stand by and watch you follow through with your madness? Stand by and watch you murder?!"

The words stung. It had been the first time anyone save him had described his nightly ritual in such a way. Ben had been too polite…maybe too afraid. And Sarah simply hadn't known. "Yes, you are!" Barnabas roared, pacing to the wall. He felt trapped. Stifled. He raised his hand up against the wall, as if he could somehow force his way out of the huge, stony squares of which it was comprised.

"Why?! How could you ask me to do a thing like this, how?!"

Barnabas didn't know what made him say it. Perhaps it was his father's uncharacteristic display of emotion. Perhaps it was because he'd just given up. He whirled around. "Because I am a vampire! I must have blood!"

The room fell suddenly hush. "What?" Joshua whispered. And then Barnabas realized. His father knew that towns all along the Northern Coast had been distraught with the fear of a demon…some sort of supernatural fashion. But he hadn't known the particulars. His aloofness had also caused him to be ignorant. Ignorant of the fact that the legend spoke of a corpse, a blood-drinking corpse that came to life every night to prey. That hundreds of graves had been torn open and stakes driven through the hearts of those inside to prevent the horror of the creature that might be. Of course, Barnabas knew that most of these incidents were false alarms. But he also knew that some might not have been. And sometimes he wondered…had they felt fear? Pain? Guilt? Maybe even relief? All those…creatures had been in some way his brethren, helpless against their sordid situation just as he was now.

But his father knew the word "vampire". And, with that one word, Barnabas had given him all of the details of his condition. "No," Joshua murmured, turning away. "This is madness! There are no such things as vampires!"

Barnabas ran to his side, leaning over the hated coffin to look him in the eyes. "I am proof that there are!"

"Just in books. They are the tales of the s-stupid and s-superstitious." The stuttering of Joshua's voice shocked and worried Barnabas.

Joshua still refused to look at him. Barnabas began to shout. "You aren't willing to—to listen to me even when I'm telling the truth!" He began to pace around the coffin. The movement, animalistic, primal, calmed him nevertheless. "I have been trying ever since you found me." He leaned over the coffin. "I have become an animal. My instincts are to kill. Everything about me has changed. I am not your son anymore." The words, held for so long, tore their way out of them, and he watched with shock as his father, his proud, apathetic father, moved toward him, arms outstretched as if to comfort him. Barnabas lunged away. "No, don't come near me, don't touch me." The thought of his father touching his body, feeling the proof of his lifelessness beneath his own hands, was disgusting.

Even turned away, Barnabas could hear, could almost feel his father's movements as he brought his arms in, slowly, as if wounded from the rebuttal. He heard Joshua move for something at his side. The pistol. Barnabas stiffened instinctually. "Barnabas," his father said quietly, with a tone of grief and care that Barnabas had never heard in it before.

"Yes," he said, wearily.

The gun cocked. "I must do this." A small smile found its way onto Barnabas's face. It was a bitter one. His father was going to put him down, like a rabid but much loved dog. Quick, painless. Merciful. And he supposed that that was what he was, a rabid animal. Little did his father know that the gun would do nothing. The gun would not put him out of his pain. "I must," his father whispered.

Barnabas turned slowly to face him. It was the proper way. His lurid smile was still plastered to his face, he knew.

"Forgive me," Joshua said. It was the first time Barnabas had ever heard those words out of his mouth. "Forgive me, dear son.

Dear son. It had taken his son turning into a vicious beast for Joshua to utter those words? As Barnabas stared down the barrel of the gun, he knew that it would most likely be the only time he heard them. He prayed that Sarah would be more fortunate.

The shot rang out, staccato and dry in the small room. Barnabas felt an impact, harder than he had ever felt before, as he was thrown against the wall. He held his chest instinctually, gritting his sharp teeth as the pain ricocheted through him. He wouldn't die, but, no matter who you were, a bullet in the chest hurt. It didn't incapacitate him, though. Careful not to show his pain to his too often disdainful father, he waited until it had subsided enough for him to straighten. Perhaps it was simply the shock that his own father had actually shot him to kill that had kept him immobile so long. Slowly, in a pattern that he was beginning to recognize as the circling of prey, he began to walk around his father, who was now staring at his pistol in disbelief.

"I…I don't understand," Joshua whispered. "I shot you in the chest."

_Yes, I noticed._ "Now you understand why I have not committed the deed myself yet. You think I wouldn't want to?" He gave a dry chuckle, and turned back to the candelabra that was now in front of him. "It cannot be done."

"You should be dead!"

"Don't you understand?" Barnabas said, turning to face his father. "What I am trying to tell you is that I am already dead."

* * *

Joshua lay the pistol down carefully on the coffin—his son's coffin. He felt nauseous. His hands were shaking imperceptibly. He couldn't believe it. But he had to. He had seen the proof. He could almost feel his own mind expanding painfully to encompass this new perception of the world. He turned to Barnabas, but couldn't bear to look at him fully. "What has happened to you is incomprehensible. It defies all reason." As if saying that would make it untrue.

"But it has happened." Barnabas was turned away again.

Joshua was, for once, at a loss for words. All he knew was that he needed to do something. "You cannot go on…in this frightening state that you're in."

"I have no choice in the matter," Barnabas said, turning to face him. His voice rose, though out of pain or anger Joshua did not know. "There is no way to change what I have become."

"I do not believe that. There has to be a way." Joshua had built his career off of solving problems…of finance, of business. Of shipbuilding. This was no different.

"There isn't!" In Barnabas's eyes lay a hopelessness the likes of which Joshua had never seen before. Apparently this would take some time.

Joshua paced around his son in much the same way his son had paced around him only a few minutes previously. "If it is possible…for one to be cursed, then it is also possible…that one can be released from a curse."

"Even if there were, Angelique would not let it happen."

"Angelique?" This was new. "What has she got to do with it?"

"She is the one responsible for everything tragic that has happened in our lives. She wanted me for herself, and she…got it, by using every evil power at her command. The death of Jeremiah…and of me—both were her doing."

"Do you mean to tell me…that Angelique…is the witch?" He moved away from his son, pondering over this change of events.

"Yes."

Immediately, an anger consumed Joshua. "How long have you known this?"

"I found out…a few days after I married her."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?!"

"She warned me that…if I betrayed her secret…she would…destroy the entire family."

Oh. "I see." Well, he couldn't fault the boy for that. Then, another thought struck him. "And…the wrong person was tried for witchcraft. Miss Winters is innocent."

"Completely."

Well, that, at least, was something that Joshua might be able to remedy. "I shall see that the girl is freed immediately."

"How?"

"How? By telling the court the truth." Barnabas's maudlin, pessimistic approach to everything was beginning to grate on Joshua's nerves.

"But, how…?" Barnabas sounded exasperated, perhaps a little frightened. "You can't very well do that without telling them about me."

"I'll think of some way to set her free. There is ample time. The more important matter at the moment is you."

Barnabas whirled away and began pacing again. It was beginning to become very annoying. "There's nothing you can do for me or about me!"

"I cannot believe that!" Joshua shouted, following him around the room. "I'll try to find some way to give you peace." He left the second part of that sentence unsaid: _dead or alive._

"How?" Barnabas turned to him, now with an almost painfully hopeful expression on his face.

Now that the question was asked, Joshua wasn't sure he had an answer. "I will try to find someone who can release you from this wretched curse."

"But who do you think that could be?" Barnabas's pessimism was back. Joshua's uncertainty must have been obvious.

"I don't know." He hated saying those words. They went against everything in his nature. At the admission, the true horror of his son's…condition, came flooding back to him. He had heard the talk from the town, mostly from his own employees. One had even lost a sister to the attacks. Agatha Victor, her name had been. Putting a name to the murders made it that much worse. With a hatefully fearful tremble to his voice, he asked, "So…you are behind the attacks, at the docks. Twelve people."

Barnabas's silence was an answer in itself.

Another thought struck Joshua, one that made him sick. "If…I had not been there, when you…opened the coffin…if it had been someone else…?" He left the question unfinished. Barnabas turned abruptly to look at him, and Joshua's stomach dropped to his feet. Because he saw it, all there, in Barnabas's eyes. Laid open, bare. He may still be able to walk and talk like a human, maybe even reason like one, but he was a creature. A wild, predatory creature. And his prey was human. His own son. He remembered the day he was born. He remembered his first attempts at speaking. He remembered when he first went off to boarding school. He remembered all of these things, despite the fact that he had never been much involved in household matters. And now, that boy, the boy he had watched grow into adulthood in his own house, was a feral beast. He wanted to vomit. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to. "I…can't let you go on like this." Then, he made a flash decision. "You're going with me…until…I find a way…to put you to rest forever."

"Go with you?" Barnabas's voice was guarded.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Back to Collinwood. I will keep you in isolation. I will put you in the tower room. I will keep you there…until I can find some help for you."

Barnabas's response was vehement as he moved towards his coffin, leaning on it. "I will not be confined by you or anyone else."

Joshua's temper exploded. "I will not let you roam the countryside like a crazed animal! You will come with me!"

"I said no!"

And, for the first time, Joshua realized there was nothing he could do to force Barnabas into obedience. When his son had been younger, he had used the switch. When he had aged to the point of being Joshua's physical equal, he had resorted to the threat of disinheritance. Now, Barnabas was beyond both of those things. He was most certainly Joshua's physical superior, if the legends told true. And he could no longer sink lower than his present situation, so the threat of living conditions was out of the question. Joshua paced around the coffin and his son. He would have to think of something else. Finally, he landed on an idea. Slowly, he said, "Then it will be necessary for you to kill me after all, because, if I leave this room alive, I will not keep your secret, Barnabas."

"What do you mean? Who will you tell?"

"Your mother."

"You can't do that!" Barnabas's voice was icy with shock.

Joshua turned to him. He regretted the threat, but it was necessary. "The choice is yours, not mine. If you want to protect your mother, you will either kill me…or put yourself in my charge. There is not a third way. Make up your mind, Barnabas."

* * *

Joshua walked through the now quiet, dark halls of Collinwood. He was mindful of his son following on his heels; it was disconcerting, especially because it was the first time he had felt a hint of fear with his back turned to the boy. He was his father—he had taken the switch to Barnabas countless times—but he felt like nothing more than a frightened squirrel in the sights of a wolf.

When they finally topped the innumerable steps of the tower, Joshua opened the door to the small room quietly. He let Barnabas walk through—he felt safer with him in his sights. His son stepped into the room, looking around its small, unwelcoming space. "You really believe that I can stay here?" he asked dourly. He turned to Joshua, the scant light casting his frighteningly gaunt features into relief.

"You must. You have no choice."

"My need is different from those of ordinary humans," Barnabas said, looking away, "and when the time comes for me to fulfill those needs, I am helpless to resist."

"You must exercise the strongest willpower." Joshua stepped closer to his son.

Barnabas turned to face him with an almost disturbing abruptness. "We shall see." He changed subject just as quickly. "Were you able to find Ben?"

Ah, yes. He had explained, reluctantly, Ben's involvement in the matter. Joshua found that he couldn't fault the servant in this matter. Had he not taken Barnabas under his wing, there may have been even more deaths. And Barnabas would be in even worse shape. "Yes."

"You told him…that he must bring-?"

"Yes," Joshua interrupted. He didn't want to hear the word. "All the arrangements have been made. You will have everything here you had at the mausoleum." He walked toward the window, wishing to distance himself from the creature that was his son.

"I must have it here before morning."

That. On the way to the manor, Barnabas had informed him of that as well. And it was perhaps this, his inability to walk in the sun, the fact that, from now on, Joshua might never see him outside of the shadows of night, that, above even his horrific dietary needs, had driven home the fact of what had become of his son. "I know," he said, quietly. Wishing to change the subject, he said, "Ben will be here as soon as I have made certain that everyone is retired for the night."

A thought seemed to have struck Barnabas, and he raced to Joshua's position quite alarmingly with a fearful expression that almost reminded Joshua of the child his son had once been. "What will you do if…if someone happens to discover me in this room?"

"No one ever comes to the tower."

"I see." Barnabas moved away, and Joshua felt a shimmer of relief run through him. "Has it ever occurred to you…the risk you are taking in doing this?"

"I don't know what you mean," Joshua said, following his son. That was false; he did know what Barnabas meant, but he didn't want to say it.

But Barnabas said it anyways. "I myself…have tried to undo the risk…of the curse…by…preventing it, and she will do the same…when she knows what you are trying to do."

Oh. Joshua had been thinking more along the lines of keeping a blood-thirsty demon in the same building as his wife and young daughter. Not that that was what Barnabas wanted to hear. There was no need to ask to whom Barnabas was referring, but he did anyways. "You mean Angelique? She fled from here not long after you…after the illness took you."

Barnabas gave a mirthless chuckle. "Distance means nothing to her."

"Well, my first responsibility is to take care of you. I will deal with the witch if and when it becomes necessary." And Barnabas did need care. No matter the people he had killed, no matter the terror he had caused, his appearance made clear that he still had a firm hold on the short end of the stick. His face was gaunt and pale, and his entire body emaciated and sickly-looking. He slouched over slightly, a stance that had at first made him look predatory. By now, though, Joshua was beginning to suspect it was a sign of lack of energy, weariness…perhaps even pain? Whatever amount of blood he had taken in the last couple of weeks, it was obviously not nearly enough. His eyes, though, were the most frightening—lackluster and lifeless, they looked so different from those that Joshua had remembered on his son. They were eyes from which all the fight had left. And it was Joshua's responsibility as the head of household and as the boy's father to bring him back to health. Besides, Naomi would have had him in a coffin if he hadn't.

He gave Barnabas a long look before turning to leave. His son's eyes were filled with an undefined emotion as Joshua closed the door on the room. _How dark it must be in there,_ he thought as he turned the key in the lock. Not that he thought Barnabas wouldn't be able to see, but nevertheless…there was something so unnatural about locking one's own child in a dark room at night.

But it had to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. This should be the last time I lift scenes straight from the series (although I kinda cut and pasted these ones-I'm too lazy to have the entire plot of 1795 storyline included. I realize it was supposed to take place at the Old House).


	5. Outrage and Ostracism

Joshua put his quill down and looked out through his study window. The sky was darkening, hovering in between that deep gray and dark blue that heralded the last vestiges of sunlight slipping over the unseen horizon. _Barnabas will be up,_ Joshua thought with trepidation. Or would he? Joshua knew he was sensitive to sunlight, but he had no idea when it would be safe for his son to leave his coffin. Joshua swallowed bile at this thought. Wishing to deter those thoughts that were overwhelming him, he pushed back from the desk, his chair scraping across the wooden floors. He would see to Barnabas now; no use in delaying.

He had to walk past the parlor to reach the stairs to the tower, and he was chagrined to find his wife perched on one of the plush armchairs that surrounded the fireplace. He had hoped that she would have retired by this time of night—she was burning valuable wax. Very well; he would simply have to look as innocuous as possible. He walked along the expanse of carpet, making his presence quite obvious.

"Where are you going, Joshua?"

Damn. He turned around to look into his wife's wide brown eyes—eyes which both of his children had inherited. "Why do you ask?"

"The only rooms on that side of the manor are the kitchens and the servant quarters. Unless you were planning on going up to the tower?" Until last night, the tower room had been unused—a vestigial construction from an earlier time.

"I…was going to speak to Ben." At least he could arrange that alibi without arousing suspicion.

"I believe he is the stables right about now."

"Well, I told him to meet me in the tower room." The excuse was an inadequate one, and he knew it.

"Whatever for? It is such a taxing climb."

"And what business is that of yours?" he snapped. Naomi's face immediately closed at this statement, holding on the merest hint of indignation. After so many years in his household, she had learned that his privacy was of the utmost importance to him, and that he would not tolerate disobedience. She always managed to find ways to push the limit, though. With a huff, Joshua turned away and began to stalk toward the tower room stairs. Why did she need to be so damn inquisitive?

Once at the top of the staircase, he stepped carefully to the door that held his son from the world. Feeling foolish, he pressed an ear to the door. Nothing. Then, after a few moments, a sigh of weariness. Shaking his head, Joshua opened the door.

At first, Joshua thought that Barnabas wasn't there. The thought that he had escaped seized Joshua's heart with terror. Then he noticed a figure huddled against the wall at one side of the room. Barnabas sat there, head bowed over his knees, arms folded up against his chest. He must have heard Joshua, but he made no sign of recognition that he was there. "Barnabas," Joshua said in a stern tone.

Barnabas looked up. If possible, his eyes looked even more shadowed than last night, his face more gaunt. "Yes, Father?"

"How are you?"

The question was ridiculous, but it was all Joshua could think of. Barnabas seemed to think so, too, as he didn't honor the question with an answer. After a while, Barnabas asked, "Have you made any progress on…a cure?"

What? Of course not. It had only been a day, and Joshua hadn't even known where to start. But he didn't want to say that, so instead, he asked, "Why are you sitting on the floor?"

Barnabas gave an exaggerated glance around the room, bare of furnishings except for the coffin. "I'm tired," he finally conceded.

Joshua frowned as he realized something. There had not been any attacks in the village for almost four days now. "Barnabas…when was the last time you…fed?"

Barnabas grimaced. "Two nights ago. It was a…deer."

"And…before that?"

Barnabas seemed to understand what he wanted to know. "I have not visited the village for four days."

"And…the deer…was it…satisfying?"

"It can fool my body into thinking I have truly fed, and hold off the hunger for awhile. Not forever, though." Barnabas didn't meet his father's eyes as he said this.

"I see." Joshua paused, then said, "I will send Ben to the butcher's today. Meanwhile, I will think of another solution."

Barnabas swallowed shakily. "Alright." He turned to look out the darkened window. When it was clear that he wasn't going to say anymore, Joshua turned for the door. As his hand reached for the knob, Barnabas's voice stopped him. "Father?"

"Yes?" Joshua turned back to face him. This time, Barnabas was looking at him, his dark eyes filled with emotion. Joshua shifted uncomfortably under the gaze.

"Do you…?" Barnabas licked his lips, seemed to hover on the verge of saying something, then apparently changed his mind. Instead, he said, "The way to destroy…what I am…I know how to do it, but I cannot do it to myself. I have not the strength."

He was inviting him to ask how to do it. He was, for all intents and purposes, inviting him to try and destroy him again.

But Joshua would not take the invitation. "That is of no import to me at this moment. There are other matters at hand." Joshua knew enough of the lore. Stake through the heart—at least that was what townspeople had been doing up and down the coast. But pointing a pistol at Barnabas's heart had been hard enough, and Joshua had no intention to take a stake and hammer to him. At least not yet.

Sparing one last glance at his son, who had resumed his looking down at his hands with a melancholy expression, Joshua walked out the door.

* * *

Naomi had watched her husband make the trip to the tower room for three days consecutively, never once asking his meaning about it since her inquisition of him on the first night. He had been acting oddly ever since that night; she had found herself interrupting uncharacteristically deep reveries of his on more than one occasion. He seemed even shorter with her than usual. Most disturbingly of all, he had quailed at the mention of Barnabas's name the day before, when she had haltingly asked if he had any particular thoughts on what should be done with his possessions. His response, uncertain yet dismissive, had left Naomi confused and more than a little concerned. Uncertainty was not in her husband's nature.

If she were truthful, though, everyone had been acting strangely since Barnabas's death. Sarah had, according to Joshua, been insistent that Barnabas was visiting her nightly. Only a couple of days ago, she had asked her mother imploringly over where Barnabas had gone, saying that his visitations had abruptly ceased. Naomi hadn't known what to say. And she couldn't blame Sarah for her flights of fancy in this matter—the hole that Barnabas had left was wide and yawning, at least to his mother. Naomi couldn't help thinking it was unfair—although who she thought had done the injustice, she didn't know. Was it God? Fate? Whatever the case, there was a time at which children were most vulnerable to death. It was not unlikely to lose a child of Sarah's age. Painful, but not unlikely. Barnabas, though? He was a man, and had been for some time. He was in the prime of his life. Naomi had thought that, in regards to her son, she was "out of the woods". Perhaps it was this sense of false security that had allowed him to be so easily snatched away from her.

Naomi swallowed a shaky breath. She had cried so much in the last month, she was beginning to wonder when the tears would just run out. They hadn't, not yet. But she had the feeling that they were getting close to it. There were some days that she felt too sad even to cry, days when she had to fight the inner recesses of her mind over the idea of getting up and out of bed. He had been her son. She had given birth to him, raised him, watched him reach adulthood…and he was gone.

It wasn't fair.

But she'd be damned if she'd lose more members of her family, even if only spiritually. Whatever had Joshua worked into a knot, he didn't feel comfortable sharing it. Fine. She had lived with the man long enough to know that pestering him would only make him less susceptible to giving in. But staying quiet was not synonymous with rolling over. She could figure things out for herself.

Picking up the candle on the end table beside her, she made her way to the tower steps.

* * *

Barnabas sat in his now customary position, propped up against the flagstone walls of the tower room. His father had visited not fifteen minutes ago, leaving him with a jug of blood from the butcher's, as he had the night before. It had been emptied within less than a minute, and was now lying on its side beside Barnabas.

Barnabas felt sick with hunger. He had now fasted from human blood for an entire week, and his body was far past complaining. At first, he had sat against the wall of the tower room because he was too depressed to do anything else. Now, he did so because he felt that, if he attempted to stand, his knees would rebel and he would most likely faint. His stomach had been gnawing at his insides since he was first locked in the room; by now, his mind was filled with a constant buzzing and he was incapable of clear thought. He had the frightening feeling that he would begin to hallucinate if he did not have sustenance soon. His arms were covered in bite marks—in an instinctual attempt to fulfill his need, he had tried taking his own blood. But, if anything, it had made him feel worse. The blood was tainted with whatever had made him into what he was, and was even more useless than the animal blood in quenching his thirst. On top of that, it was a waste of a substance he so badly needed.

Something rattled in the lock. Barnabas gave a start—he must be truly starving to have not smelled whoever it was coming. Desperate to be prepared even on short order for his uninvited visitor, he took in a deep breath, hoping to catch the scent. The action only gave him a nauseous and heady feeling. After recovering slightly, he grabbed the wall behind him and pushed himself shakily onto his feet, his hand still resting on the wall for support. _I swear to God, if anyone walks through that door, I will attack them, no matter how hard I try to control myself,_ Barnabas thought bitterly. He steeled himself as much as he could for the intruder.

The door swung open, and Barnabas looked straight into the wide, surprised eyes of his mother.

Naomi's mouth dropped open in a perfect "O". "Barnabas?" she finally muttered. "What—How-?"

With Josette, Barnabas had simply lied, or at least omitted some very important truths. With his father, he had attempted to bring him slowly but surely to the reality of his condition. Barnabas found that he had not the patience or presence of mind to do either of these things with his mother. _So much for our bargain,_ he thought sardonically. In a way, he was relieved—his father would have no hold on him any longer, not with his only bartering chip destroyed. He could flee, though to where he was not sure. He gave a sigh, then said, "Mother, you would not believe the truth, even if I told you. Father certainly didn't."

"Father?" she asked weakly. "Your father knew? And he didn't tell me?" Her face began to darken.

"He was only trying to protect you," Barnabas said hurriedly. She didn't need to know about their bargain.

"Protect me?! My son is still alive, and he knew, and he didn't tell me?! That is unforgiveable! Why? How are you still alive? Why is he keeping you here?" Her jumble of questions poured out so fast, Barnabas wasn't sure where to start. Then she seemed to forget them all and ran straight into his arms.

Barnabas stiffened immediately. The scent of her warm, metallic blood flew straight into his nose. _Don't breathe, don't breathe,_ he thought, turning slightly away. The corners of his mouth crimped down in disgust. Salivating at the scent of the blood of random strangers on the docks was bad enough. But his own mother? The thought made him want to vomit. Which was probably a good thing.

"Barnabas," she said, her voice quavering, "I lo—"

"Mother!" he interrupted fiercely, mindful of the first part of Angelique's curse. "Father hid me because the illness from which I died caused a great change in me. Have you heard…of the myths that have been circulating the coast? Corpses that come to life at night…to drink…"

"Blood?" his mother finished, looking up into his face inquisitively. "Are you referring to those cases in which the bodies were staked in their graves? Yes, I've heard that's the popular legend going around these days. A Slavic myth, I believe." Then she frowned. "What has that got to do with…?" Then her face darkened once more in realization. "You can't be serious."

Barnabas looked away. "I am," he said quietly.

What would have been a very awkward few moments was interrupted by Joshua's voice, bellowing from the doorway. "Get away from him, Naomi!"

Naomi whipped around, equally furious. "And why should I? You don't honestly believe that he's…that he's…" she seemed to fish around for the right word, then gave up. "Do you?"

"I have seen the proof of it myself," Joshua said solemnly, not meeting his son's eyes.

Naomi looked between her husband and son. Finally, she said, "You're both mad."

How could he make her understand without hurting himself or anyone else? "Mother," he said forcefully, "Look at me."

Slowly, Naomi turned to look at him. Her deep brown eyes gazed into his. Barnabas almost lost his nerve.

"Barnabas…" came his father's warning tones. Barnabas ignored him.

"This is the proof." Before he could back out, he drew his upper lip back in what must have looked like a snarl, revealing what he knew were needle sharp fangs.

When he saw his mother's reaction of shock, he settled his lip over his teeth again, waiting uncomfortably for her to say something. After several interminable moments of silence, she whispered, quite simply, "No."

She began to back away from him, almost unconsciously it seemed. Although the reaction had been expected, it stung nevertheless. Barnabas moved forward, a hand reaching out. "Mother—"

"No! I won't believe it!" She turned to her husband, looking to him for some sign of solace. He returned her gaze for a moment, then turned to Barnabas. His gaze was icy.

"Out," he hissed.

"What?" Barnabas asked, caught off-guard.

"You heard me. I was wrong to take you in. You were right—you are not my son anymore. And I can't keep a wild animal in my home with my wife and daughter. I want you out of here within the hour. And if I ever find you on the Collinwood grounds again, I will destroy you."

Barnabas stood there, stunned. It had been what he had wanted. But now that he had it, that freedom, he was lost. Where would he go? Where would he hide from the sunlight? Before his illness, he had been prepared for life…he had been ready to take over the family business, he was going to marry, have a family of his own. He would have described himself as independent. But now, facing a life with a disease he did not understand, forced to live in ways that frightened him…he felt like a child again. Helpless. And it was then that he realized…he needed their support. And, like his inheritance, it had been stripped from him with only one word from his father.

But fear was only half of the emotion that was running through Barnabas as he stood there, arm slowly falling down to his side, staring at his father. _You are not my son anymore._ Even when Joshua had disinherited him, he had not said this. And, worse still, he did not trust him around his family—a family which he did not consider Barnabas a part of anymore. Joshua was protecting his family from a feral beast that stalked his grounds, nothing more. And, worst of all, Barnabas could not fault him for it.

The shocked silence was broken by his mother. "Joshua, what are you saying? He is our son."

"He is a wild animal, Naomi. He is dangerous."

"I don't care what he is! He's our son! And he needs us! I will not simply stand by while you turn your back on him!"

"Mother," Barnabas interjected, his calm tone surprising even himself. "There is no need to blame Father. I will leave willingly."

Both parents looked shocked. Again, Naomi was the first to speak. "No, you will not! You are staying here, with us! We will work through this somehow! Joshua," she said, turning a pleading gaze on her husband. "Please."

But Joshua said nothing, instead fixing a steady gaze on his son. Barnabas returned it for a few moments, then broke it to look briefly into his mother's eyes. They were brimming with tears. "Mother…forgive me," he said haltingly, then fled past them out of the tower room.

He raced down a flight of stairs and nearly toppled Ben over. Regaining his balance, he muttered a quick "pardon me" if only out of habit. Ben stuck out a meaty hand and grabbed him by the upper arm.

"What's goin' on? I heard arguin'," he said, hitching his chin towards the upper floor.

Barnabas considered not answering, then decided that wouldn't help any. "My father has banished me from the Collinwood grounds."

He began to start down the next flight of stairs when Ben's voice stopped him. Without a hint of surprise at the change of events, he said, "You'll need some clothes." Barnabas was about to protest, but Ben cut him off. "Ya can't very well walk the streets in those." He nodded at the tattered and stained, but still obviously expensive outfit Barnabas had been buried in. "Do ya want to get beat up?"

The image of walking along the back alleys of unfamiliar port towns, wearing his bloodstained clothing, drove home the prospect of what he would be facing when he left home. Letting go a breath shakily, he nodded. Ben resumed his grip on Barnabas's arm and hauled him through the halls of Collinwood towards the servant's quarters.

Barnabas didn't even try concealing himself as they sped past several servants, all of whom looked at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. They finally reached a small room with rough wooden floors and walls, unfurnished save a cot with a straw mattress and a little wooden dresser. Ben wrenched trousers and a shirt from the dresser, tossing them at Barnabas. As he began to undo his cravat, the servant grabbed a dingy woolen blanket off his bed and threw it at Barnabas's feet. Barnabas slipped into the clothing (which was incredibly loose on him) and looked at the blanket. "I can't take that. What will you have for the winter?"

"I'll figure somethin' out," Ben said dismissively. "I'm sure if Mrs. Collins knew what had happened with my blanket, she'd be willin' to lend me one. You're gonna need it more 'n me."

Barnabas felt a lump of emotion rise to his throat. In a raw whisper, he asked, "Why are you doing this, Ben? Why have you stood by me the past few weeks?"

Ben paused, seeming to pick out his words. "Ya been kind to me," he said slowly, "for a man o' your station. But…also…" He hesitated, then forged ahead. "Ya know why I was in prison, right?"

"No." Barnabas had wondered, but had never asked. He felt it a private matter.

"I had been livin' on the streets for a few years, an' I was starvin'. Work, money, and food were all hard to come by. So I broke into a bakery an' stole some bread. The baker tried to stop me, so I beat him up. Landed me in prison for years," he said, his voice taking on a regretful tone. "Landed me here. An' all for some bread." He paused, then said, "I s'ppose I think what you're goin' through is no different. You're starvin', so much that you'll hurt people to get what ya need. I understand that. An' you were good to me anyways, when I came here, so I s'ppose I should do the same for you."

Barnabas didn't know what to say to this. So he simply picked up the blanket and said, quietly, "Thank you, Ben. You're a good man."

Ben didn't look at him, but said, "Go out the servant door. The less your father sees of you, the better."

Barnabas didn't argue and made his way to the servant door, whose location he knew because it was a favorite entrance of Sarah's (the cook always spoiled her with morsels throughout the day) and he had had to go there many a time to bring her back to her studies. Which was why it shouldn't have surprised him at all when Sarah popped out from behind the doorway.

But it did anyway. "Sarah! What are you doing here?"

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Her small voice, plaintive and morose, tugged at Barnabas's heart.

"Yes. I'm sorry," he whispered, fearing that if he spoke any louder he might cry in front of his little sister. "I'll miss you."

Without warning, Sarah launched herself into her brother's arms. Barnabas nevertheless caught her, holding her so close he could hear her breath begin to become labored with the pressure. "I'll miss you, too," she said, then pulled back to peer into his face. "I thought I should give you this." She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket, her small hands clamping into the flimsy material. Barnabas took it carefully from her and studied it. Meticulously embroidered in shades of lavender and powdered blue, it sported the letters _S.C_.

"Who gave you this?" Barnabas asked.

"Josette finished it before she left for me. I've kept it with me ever since. I thought it might remind you of me when you're gone."

Barnabas's throat closed with emotion. "Thank you, my sweet little girl. I will cherish this." He bent to give her a peck on the cheek, squeezed her once more, then set her down. He turned to face Ben, who had come up behind him during the reunion. Ben nodded solemnly at him. Barnabas turned back to face Sarah. "Goodbye, my little love."

"Bye, Barnabas." Her deep brown eyes bore into his, and he wondered fleetingly whether she realized they would most likely never see each other again.

Swallowing, Barnabas turned to face the doorway. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he walked out into the chilly night air that would be his home from then on.


	6. Refuge and Regret

Barnabas drew the woolen blanket around him, shivering in the cold. It had been a few months since that fateful night when his father threw him out, and he no longer had the vaguest idea where he was. He was still seeing signs to Boston, so he assumed he was still in Massachusetts. He had tried to follow the coast, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps to give him a sense of direction. Although he wasn't sure why that mattered anymore—it wasn't as if he had a place to return to or a destination of any sort. He had spent the past few months sleeping in roadside ditches, under bridges, in abandoned buildings, covering himself with the blanket Ben had given him to hide himself from the garish sun. It was emotionally as well as physically exhausting—he spent every night in the fear that someone would come upon his corpse, shift the blanket away. Even if he was not burned by the sun in such a situation, they would surely bury him alive. He spent every night in regret and shame, and approached every dawn with a sense of terror and the fear that he would not rise to see the moon the next night. Some part of him, however small, thought that that might be perhaps best. But the instinctual part of him, the primal part that existed in all animals, screamed at him. _You must keep existing,_ it said. _If only for one more night._

Besides, it was sin to commit suicide. But did he have a soul anymore to be eternally punished? He wasn't sure. And, even if he did, was this not his eternal punishment? Was this not hell?

His thoughts were becoming more disjointed with every night, and he didn't feel the urge to probe them any farther on this particular one.

It was not yet midnight, and he had already fed from a nearby town. A woman this time—he only deliberated on his victims in the case of children. That, at least, was an atrocity he had not committed.

Yet.

Now, he was in a woods, having retreated to the countryside so as to lessen the possibility of being happened upon. Even if the townspeople set out in a hunt for a wolf or some other such creature, a figure that appeared like a man, filthy and bloodstained, would not go unnoticed by the party.

He wondered how long it would be before he stopped caring enough to take such precautions.

It was getting colder, the fall on the cusp of turning into winter (which always came so early in this part of the States). Barnabas could not have thanked Ben enough for the blanket he had given him before he left. It had saved him in so many ways. If he had thought the Massachusetts winters were harsh before his condition, they were Dante's Ninth Circle as…what he was. When faced with the cold, he used to be able to draw himself closer in an attempt to trap his own body heat. It was such an instinctual thing. Now, the simple action did nothing. Surely no living creature could have ever felt this cold before. They would have died before this amount of torturous pain.

But he wasn't living. So he couldn't die.

Sometimes, when the cold froze his body to the point of being unable to unbend his limbs, he wondered if he would still be able to talk. He hadn't done so in months, having dropped the pretense of civilization with his victims and simply attacking. And perhaps it was the thought that he might have forgotten how to even talk that frightened him the most. Those last words his father had said to him still rang through his head: _He is a wild animal, Naomi._ And earlier, when he had first discovered him: _I will not let you roam the countryside like a crazed animal!_ Well, now he most certainly was just that. He vaguely remembered that at one point in the last few months he had almost challenged some stray dogs over the carcass of a small rodent and lost. That made it official—he was lower on the pecking order than a street cur.

_I can't keep a wild animal in my home with my wife and daughter._ Those were the words that hurt the most. Barnabas pulled Sarah's handkerchief from a pocket of the baggy pants Ben had given him. At odds with the rest of his meager possessions, the kerchief was pristine. Its soft silk traveled lightly in between Barnabas's stiff, frozen fingers. He brought it up to his nose and took a deep inhale.

It smelled strongly of Sarah, and, more faintly, Josette. It smelled of home.

Barnabas wondered when the scent would finally fade.

Pressing the handkerchief up against his forehead and bowing his head, Barnabas began to weep.

* * *

Joshua leaned back against the velvet of the coach seat, watching dejectedly as the carriage pulled into the main courtyard of Collinwood. It had been three months and four days since Barnabas had fled the house. He had spent the next few days trying to explain to his wife the full predicament of his son, even though he didn't fully understand it himself. She had gone quickly through various emotions—disbelief, rage, guilt, grief. Eventually, she had given in to the truth of the matter—and then she had promptly returned to anger, but this time it was not directed at Angelique. It was directed at Joshua.

"How could you have thrown him out of the house?! When he so desperately needed us?!" she had cried. "I love you, Joshua. But not as much as I do our son." Then she had locked herself in her chambers for days and had gone through several bottles of sherry. When she finally emerged again, she wasn't speaking to Joshua. And, three months later, she still wasn't.

He would never have thought that he'd care that his wife was treating him with indifference. After all, he did the same to her regularly. But he realized that he should have perhaps counted his blessings; now that his wife was no longer speaking to him, he almost wished for her annoying interruptions and attempts to draw him into his family life.

Actually, there were really quite a few things that Joshua missed now that they were gone from his life.

The carriage crunched to a stop over the flagstone floors of the courtyard. Joshua opened the door and stumbled out, stretching stiff legs. He had been all the way to Ellsworth to negotiate with another shipping company. He was tired, grumpy, and he would be welcomed home by a wife that wanted nothing to do with him.

There was something he could do about that, he realized. All those times she had encouraged him to take walks with her, or go riding with her when they were married but a few years, and he had declined the invitation, claiming business matters.

Was it too late to make up for all those times?

Feeling ridiculously nervous for the first time since he first began courting the beautiful young woman, rumored to have once held the love of a pirate, that was now his wife, Joshua rapped on the front doors with the heavy brass knocker.

There was the clicking of locks, and then the door swung open on the doorman. "Where is Mrs. Collins?" he asked brusquely.

"I believe she is in her chambers." The servant's voice was expressionless, even though the entire household knew of his current marital troubles. Joshua huffed and tromped up the staircase to his wife's rooms. When he reached the door, though, he quieted. Listening intently, he heard the rustle of skirts and the clinking of a glass. He heard a faint sniffling. Steeling himself, he gently knocked on the door.

The rustling stopped. "Come in," a quavering voice said. The words were curved up to form a question, as if she was asking who was at the door at the same time that she allowed them entrance.

Joshua pushed the door open slowly. "Naomi?"

Naomi shot him a glare, then looked away. "Oh, it's you."

Joshua swallowed, feeling like a schoolboy again. He cleared his throat, then said loudly, "Naomi, dear. The sun is soon to set. I was wondering—I haven't seen you for the past few days—would you to go riding with me?"

Naomi paused. Of course this would have been what she was least expecting. Guardedly, she said, "I'd enjoy that. Shall I get into a more appropriate outfit?"

"I'll wait for you at the stables," Joshua said immediately.

"No," Naomi said hurriedly. She continued more slowly. "Stay here. I won't be but a moment." With that she disappeared into her dressing room.

True to her word, she returned several minutes later in a riding habit and petticoat. Her hair was drawn up into her hat. Joshua suddenly had a very insistent flashback of how she had looked when they were courting—with a comely figure, silky chestnut hair, and dainty features, she had captured the eye of every man in her youth. Now, those same features were lined, and her eyes were tired. Joshua couldn't help but feel that he had been the one to put most of those lines there.

He cleared his suddenly full throat once more. Offering her his elbow, he said, "Well, my lady, shall we sally forth?"

Naomi gave him a dubious look, as though asking him with her eyes, _Just what are you about?_ But she hooked her arm around his nevertheless, and they stepped, still linked, out into the hallway together.

As they walked down the hallway, Joshua shot his wife a sidelong glance. To his surprise, a small smile played on her thin lips. Joshua turned back, a satisfied feeling mounting in his heart. Maybe the night would be a success, after all.

* * *

Melantha drew the woolen blanket around her, shivering in the cold. It had been a long time since she'd received that blanket—six years ago, to be exact. Or stolen it, rather. It couldn't be counted as stealing, though—it had been lying on the cobblestones when she'd found it, filthy but warm nonetheless.

She really didn't care anymore.

She had been…traveling…for six years, too. She could no longer remember the particulars. The darkness seemed to cloud all her memories. Not to mention her constantly empty stomach. Nothing made sense any more. Her husband had tried to shoot her…had failed. When she'd left, her son had been clinging to his trouser-leg, as if she was the one to be frightened of. Maybe she was. She didn't remember.

It wasn't as if she'd gotten used to it. It was more like she'd forgotten what had come before, so there was nothing better to compare it to. Besides, thinking seemed harder these days, so it was more pleasant just to blot all those thoughts out. Not long ago, she had mused that the line between human and animal wasn't all that different. Their instincts were the same. And every night, Melantha would follow her routine. But now she was beyond thinking. All her thoughts seemed out of order and unfinished anyways. Maybe it was because she was hungry, or tired. Or both.

She watched the wake of the sun's rays grip onto the horizon with the firmness of a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. She could see the town, from here. Her little spot on the crest of the hill, right before the woods. Her home for the last few days. She'd gone there for a meal every night. It was a nice little town.

But she was still cold.

A rumble of voices. People. Melantha stiffened. Time to make herself scarce.

Stumbling into a standing position stiffly, she picked up her blanket. Taking a couple of steps, she walked straight into a horse.

"Whoa, whoa!" came a deep, bellowing voice. The horse stopped. Melantha peered into its eyes. It peered right back. It was a bay—its lean, muscular legs were a warm brown, ending in dark stockings. Its ears pricked forward, and it gave a snort. The gust of air blew into Melantha's face in a heated, powerful-smelling mixture.

Then she realized there was probably a human sitting atop that horse. She craned her neck up to look into eyes the exact color of the horse's coat. Those eyes belonged to a woman—middle-aged with mouse-brown hair and a careworn face. Her riding clothes looked expensive. But her face, though weary, was kind. So much so that Melantha couldn't draw her eyes away.

There was a crunching to her side, and Melantha's head whipped around. Another horse, a dapple, stood but a few feet away from her, and its rider, a middle-aged man with flinty eyes and a shock of blonde hair, had dismounted it. Holding the horse's reins firmly, he took a few steps toward her. "I do apologize, I did not see you. I hope you are not hurt."

Melantha didn't answer. Was he talking to her? She couldn't remember the last time someone had talked directly to her—much less the last time she had actually responded.

The man seemed to notice her reticence. He studied her. "Are you quite well?" he boomed. His voice was becoming quite agitating. It sounded almost threatening. Melantha stiffened once again.

A gasp from her side made her spin around once again. "Oh, Joshua," the woman breathed. "She must have run headlong into Chaitain. Look at her mouth! Oh, it's bleeding! We must provide aide." She jumped off her mount and advanced towards Melantha. Melantha teetered back, afraid of being touched. The woman paused in confusion. "Please," she said, her voice taking on an almost maternal note, "I will not hurt you. Let us help. You require assistance."

"What are you doing on our grounds?" the man named Joshua asked. The woman shot him a look. "I only meant to inquire," the man flustered, "as to whether you are lost. Can we take you to your home?"

Melantha remained quiet. She didn't have one.

"Very well. We will take you to ours," the woman announced.

It was Joshua's turn to shoot her a dirty look. "Naomi," he said warningly.

The woman, whose name was apparently Naomi, answered abruptly, "Don't be silly, Joshua. This poor woman ran into our horse, and now she's hurt. It's the least we can do to take her back to our home. Besides, it's getting dark out. You can't honestly expect her to walk back to town in the deep of night? You know what dangers lay out there." At this, her voice grew distant, almost…pained.

Joshua stalled for a moment. He seemed like the kind of man who wouldn't even hire a woman of her apparent station, much less keep her as a guest in his home.

"Look at her, Joshua," Naomi's gentle voice said again. "How would you want…our son to be treated?"

Joshua seemed to stiffen at this. His face grew angry for a moment, then subsided into acceptance. "Alright," he conceded. "She can ride Procella." With that, he stepped away from his horse and beckoned Melantha forward. Melantha stepped towards him cautiously, wary of him. No one had treated her like this for six years. It could be a trap. God knows there would be many with reasons to lure her into one.

Suddenly, rough hands were at her waist. She shrieked, hissed, and nearly twisted herself out of the grip. But the next moment, she was on the horse, looking down into the face of the man to whom the hands belonged. "The saddle isn't set for you, but—" Joshua began, but Naomi interrupted.

"Joshua, I think—" The woman seemed to be searching for words. Finally, she gave up and tapped her head twice, giving a pointed glance in Melantha's direction. She knew what that meant. And the woman was probably right in not judging her completely sane.

Joshua gave a grumble of assent and steered the lead in the direction from whence the two riders had come. Naomi mounted again and did likewise.

Melantha did not completely relax for the entire ride back. It had been even more than six years since she'd been on a horse, and the feeling of riding another animal, with its clatter of hooves and jaunty gait, set her teeth on edge. But, no matter how insane she may have been driven over the last few years, she knew what had just happened. She'd been shown a rare slice of compassion. And that was something that she would not undervalue.

* * *

Inside Collinwood, Naomi guided the young woman to the parlor and then to a couch. The girl plopped down onto the plush cushions and proceeded to stare into space. She looked perhaps a few years younger than Barnabas, and her pale face, although careworn, was not lined. She had long hair, so deep in hue that it was almost black, although under the light of the candles Naomi could see that it was indeed a dark roan color. The strands fell in patches down her back. It would have been perfect in ringlets, but it was long past that stage, instead frizzing around her face in a manner that told Naomi it hadn't been combed in years. Her eyes were a deep blue, but not startlingly so. Rather, they were very dark as well, and seemed to turn green whenever the girl's head turned. Deep purple and brown bags hung under those eyes, and the girl's mouth was slightly open as if she was too tired to keep it shut. Her clothes were in tatters, but even in such a state Naomi could tell they were not the clothes of a woman in poverty. Of course, they did not belong to a woman of Naomi's class, either, but they spoke of stability at the very least. Simple, yet well-fitting and of a finer cloth than the flour sack material that sometimes adorned the poor. Perhaps she had come from a family of craftsmen—bakers or blacksmiths, something of that sort. But whatever social privileges she had been born with, she was certainly beneath them now.

And then there was her face to attend to. Her mouth was dripping with chapped blood. In fact, it had run all the way down to the already soiled collar of her corset, and Naomi found herself wondering how all that damage had been caused by one run in with a horse.

Then she realized she still didn't know the girl's name. Soaking a cloth in a bowl of hot water, Naomi said, "I do believe I never caught your name, my dear."

The girl was silent for a moment, and Naomi began to think she wasn't going to answer. Finally, still staring into space, the girl said, quietly, "Melantha. Melantha Turnroad."

"Well, Miss Turnroad," Naomi said, gently dabbing the cloth on the woman's face, "Are you from Collinsport?"

Melantha looked confused for a moment, then said, "No. I'm…from Philadelphia."

Naomi had to think to keep her mouth from dropping. "Philadelphia? You're a very long way from home, then. What brings you here?"

Melantha shrugged, not meeting her eyes. "I suppose I'm looking to start a new life." Her voice was rough, unused.

Naomi nearly laughed. A new life? A girl from Philadelphia wanted to find a new life…in Collinsport? "Do you have a place to stay?" She knew the answer to the question already.

"No."

Naomi sighed. She doubted Joshua would take kindly to keeping the likes of Melantha in their house. But the moment Naomi had seen her, her maternal side had sprung into action, as if it had gotten cabin fever for losing half of its purpose when Barnabas had left. And they were so close in age. She wondered if Barnabas looked anywhere as near as lost and broken as this woman.

_She's not a replacement,_ the back of Naomi's mind chided.

No. But a little bit of charity wouldn't hurt. Naomi patted Melantha's shoulder. "Here," she said soothingly, "we'll get a nice hot meal in you."

At this, the girl suddenly snapped to life. "Meal?" she asked, as if she'd never heard the word before.

"Yes." Naomi paused. "Would something drier be better? Perhaps some biscuits?"

Melantha looked away. "No. I can't."

"Oh, it's no trouble, dear. We'll have it up here within a few minutes. Just let me go talk to the cooks."

"No, I mean I really can't."

Naomi frowned. This girl was simply the most puzzling creature she'd ever met. Surely she had some form of madness. It might explain her undesirable situation as well.

Joshua chose that moment to step into the room. "Naomi, how is our guest?"

"Well, she's been cleaned up a bit." Joshua took a look at the disheveled state of the woman in question and raised an eyebrow. Naomi pointedly ignored him. "She's refusing a meal, though."

"Nonsense," Joshua boomed. "You are a guest in our house, and I won't have you leaving through our doors with an empty stomach."

Naomi frowned. What had gotten into him this evening? First a leisurely ride with his wife, and now showing hospitality to a woman who was so clearly below him in class and situation? But she wasn't going to question it now. Turning to Melantha, she said, "Soup it is, then, unless there is something else you would fancy more."

The girl opened her mouth to argue, then, with all the attention span of a squirrel, she stared in the direction of the staircase, teal eyes widened in shock and…fear? Naomi spun around to see none other than Sarah standing on the last step, short arm reaching up to the banister. Pointing at Melantha, she said, "Mama, who's that?"

"Sarah, you know what I've told you about pointing!" Naomi snapped.

"No," Melantha whispered from behind. "Not with a child in the house."

"What?" Naomi turned around again. Melantha was standing now, backing away slowly from Sarah as if from a wild predator. "What does my daughter have to do with anything?"

"You don't understand," Melantha croaked.

"Then why don't you enlighten us?" Joshua said imperiously.

"I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be in your house. It's not safe. Especially not with a child around."

Naomi stepped towards her, hand outstretched in comfort. "We will not harm you, dear."

"I know that!" Melantha shrieked, in hysterics by now. "But I might harm you!"

Naomi froze. She had only ever heard one other person speak in such a way before. She glanced at her husband. The look on his face said that he was thinking along the same lines.

"Miss Turnroad," Joshua said, his voice filled with uncharacteristic care, "Whatever makes you think you might harm us?"

Melantha collapsed onto the couch again, clutching herself and beginning to gasp out short, quiet sobs. But she didn't answer.

"Miss Turnroad?" Joshua intoned again.

Finally Melantha spoke up. "It's Mrs. Turnroad," she said, choking on one last sob, "and I think I may harm you because I…am a vampire."

* * *

Joshua froze. He must be hallucinating. She could not have said those words. _Vampire._ But, as he studied the young woman huddled on his couch, he knew it had to be true. She was pale, thin, sickly—all characteristics that could be attributed to another disease, but her similarities in appearance to Barnabas were startling. What powerful coincidence had landed a vampire in his house only months after he had banished his vampiric son from the very same?

Now the vampire was staring up at him with wide, doleful eyes. She looked quite ironically like a frightened rabbit. Frightened of what? Of him? Well, when he thought about it, she had reason to. When Barnabas had first revealed his changed nature to him, he had reacted immediately with disbelief. Then it was disgust and coercion. And then—anger. Of course, she would be afraid of him. If he could react that way to his own child, then how would he treat a complete stranger? Looking at the introverted vampire before him, who looked like she had seen her fair share of trials, he wondered how many times she had faced such reactions before.

_Woman,_ he chided himself. _She's a woman, not a vampire._

She seemed to be waiting for his reaction. That begged the question: what should his reaction be? He knew now why there was blood all over her face; it wasn't hers. Surely he couldn't keep her in the house. After all, he had banished his own son for being what he was.

But he was beginning to regret that.

There would be no way to find his son by now; for all he knew he was in a different state. This girl was from Philadelphia, after all. But maybe this poor woman didn't have to suffer the same fate.

He turned to look at Naomi, whose eyes displayed the shock that he was feeling. "Naomi," he said, "Come with me to my study."

A question formed in Naomi's eyes, but she followed him without argument. Joshua turned around. "Sarah, you had better come, too." He may want to help the girl, but that didn't mean she was to be trusted around his daughter. She herself had said that.

Joshua and Naomi entered the study, Sarah trotting along behind them, and Joshua closed the door. He opened his mouth to speak, but Naomi charged in before him.

"Look, Joshua, I believe her. And I know that means she's dangerous. And I know what you are going to say—you wouldn't let Barnabas stay in the house, so why would you let this girl? But please, please, just think about this—that young woman probably had loved ones once. She had to flee, just like Barnabas did. And maybe her loved ones still worry for her, as we—I—do for Barnabas. Don't you ever hope, Joshua? Hope that he is alright? Would you wish that, if he were in Melantha's position, he would be taken in? That whoever found him would help get him back on his feet?"

"Naomi," Joshua interrupted gently, "I was going to discuss with you the arrangements for her staying here."

Naomi's look was one of pure shock. After a few long, awkward moments of silence, she said, " _What?_ "

"Naomi," Joshua said in exasperation, searching around for words, "if the last several months haven't changed me in regards to…how I view family, at least, I don't think anything could. I have realized…that there are a few things—a few perspectives on others—I might need to change." He paused, not sure if he should say the words he had in mind. "I…think I made a mistake. With our son."

More silence. Naomi's eyes began to fill with tears. Then, without warning, she threw herself into Joshua's arms. After a few startled moments, Joshua slowly returned the embrace. They stood like that for what seemed a long time. Joshua noticed his daughter looking at them in surprise and concern. How sad, Joshua thought, that she is so unused to a display of affection from her father that it puts her at unease.

Quietly, Naomi said, into his chest, "It won't bring him back."

"No," Joshua conceded, "but it will help her. And I guess that's all we can do right now."

Naomi looked at him for a few long moments. When it seemed she wasn't going to say anything, Joshua said, "But you're right, she is dangerous. And though that may not be her fault, we still must take precautions."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

"Lock her in the tower room when we sleep. She seems quite willing to cooperate—it was she herself who insisted she couldn't stay here. I'm sure she wouldn't protest to that particular precaution."

"And…her meals?"

"I will do what I did with Barnabas until I can find a better solution. I plan on taking a trip to Boston…I might be able to research her…condition…better there."

Naomi seemed to consider this, then nodded. "We should probably talk to the young lady."

Joshua nodded, then turned to Sarah. "Off to bed, you."

"But I don't want to! I want to meet the lady in the parlor."

"She is very tired. Perhaps you can meet her tomorrow night."

"She's staying?"

"Hopefully. Now go to bed."

"But Mama tucks me in!"

"She'll be there soon. Now to bed."

With one last putting look, Sarah made her way up the stairs to her chambers. Joshua gave a meaningful look at his wife and made his way to the parlor.

Melantha was still huddled on the couch, looking incredibly out of place with her arms wrapped around her tattered clothing and her head bowed to her chest. Joshua didn't know how to broach the subject with her; he looked at his wife with a pleading expression. Naomi pursed her lips and turned to the young woman with a maternal expression. "Miss Turnroad…how did you come to be…a vampire?"

Melantha's head shot up. "You believe me?"

Naomi paused, then said, "We ourselves have a member in the family who suffers from your condition. We are familiar with it."

Melantha blinked in shock, then said, carefully, "And where is this…family member?"

Naomi swallowed. "He…doesn't live with us."

"Ah." Melantha seemed to think for a while, then said, "I was…turned…about six years ago. I think it was an accident. I…lived in town. My husband was a tailor."

"Your husband?" Joshua said without thinking. He received a very dirty look from his wife at this statement, which immediately quieted him on the subject.

Melantha continued as if she'd never been interrupted. "I was out late one night. My son was ill, you see, and I was rushing to the doctor."

She had a son, Joshua thought. The thought saddened him for some reason.

"Before I got there, though…I don't remember it, really. Something leaped at me out of the shadows. I was near the doctor's house. He came out when he heard my screams, I think he frightened it. But, whatever the case…I felt it running through my body. The venom, I think. I had a fever. Died. When I woke up…" She left the sentence hanging, staring off into the distance.

Naomi spoke quietly, almost whispering, "And…your husband and child?" One mother to another, Joshua realized.

"He wanted to protect our son. I understood." The woman nearly choked on the last sentence.

Several moments of silence followed. Joshua realized that, as the master of the house, it might be his turn to speak. Clearing his throat self-consciously, he said, "Mrs. Turnroad, would you like to stay with us?" He was mindful of her apparent marital status.

"What?" Melantha looked up, her eyes studded with tears. Blood, Joshua realized.

"You need help, ma'am. And we are willing to provide it."

"But—"

"No buts. You must be incredibly cold. We'll stoke up the fire and have a room prepared for you. Do you…would a coffin be best?"

"Yes," Melantha said quietly. "I'd like that."

"That might take us a few days, but we'll have it done. For now we'll simply shutter the windows."

"Sir, I…" Melantha gave a small sob. "I don't know what to say."

Joshua raised what he hoped was a comforting hand. "It is of no consequence. Naomi, will you show her to her room? I hope you don't mind if we lock your door, as a precaution."

Melantha shook her head. "I…I haven't slept in a room for six years."

Naomi leaned into Joshua and whispered quietly, "I need to see Sarah to bed."

"No, I'll see to that," Joshua responded. Ignoring Naomi's look of surprise, he began to make his way up to Sarah's chambers. If he was going to turn over a new leaf, he might as well do so completely—all the way to tucking in his daughter at night.


	7. Adaptations and Arrangements

A few days later, Naomi stood outside the door to the tower room with a jug of blood from the butcher. Pig's, this time, if she wasn't mistaken. Joshua had protested her bringing the substance to their guest, but she had insisted. She didn't want her husband to scare the poor woman. And, besides, she planned on doing something tonight that her husband would certainly not allow if he knew.

She knocked on the door softly. A rustling told her that the sun had sunk sufficiently enough that Melantha was about. But she would wait politely for an answer.

"Come," came the girl's voice, slightly less raspy then it had been when Naomi had first met her. Naomi supposed her voice had probably been used more in the last few days than in the last several years. She opened the door, holding the lantern out in front of her.

Melantha's face, which had, upon first sight a few days ago, appeared even more drawn and gaunt than her son's, now had regained a slightly more natural hue. With a few square meals, she would be rather pretty, Naomi thought. And that was what she intended to give the girl tonight.

"Your meal," Naomi said cheerily, pushing the cup into Melantha's bony hands. Melantha swallowed, seemingly self-conscious, then turned slightly and drained the bottle as daintily as could be done—which was not very much. At least it wasn't dripping down the maid's outfit Naomi had given her—nothing else could be found on short notice to replace the filthy clothes she had most likely been wearing for the last few years.

Finally, Melantha handed the much lighter jug back to her. "Thank you," she said softly, then stared down at her shoes in a sign of submission, as if waiting for Naomi to choose to let herself out.

But Naomi didn't. "Joshua and I will be up for the next couple of hours, if you want to join us."

Melantha looked up, eyes widened. Naomi wasn't sure why the girl continued to react this way—she had been allowing her about the house as long as either her husband or she were awake from day one. Perhaps she just thought it a miracle every day that she was allowed to interact with others like a normal person. Naomi sighed. "Mrs. Turnroad, there is one more thing." She hesitated, not sure if she should proceed, then steeled herself and drew out a small letter opener from the folds of her skirt. Melantha's eyes widened still. Naomi ignored her. "I'm no fool. I know animal blood will not suffice for you forever. And giving a little blood won't hurt."

This time Melantha's eyes widened to the point where it seemed that they might pop out of her head. "No—" she began to protest.

Naomi ignored her. She didn't have time for this. She held the knife point to her index finger—might as well start out small and work her way up.

Melantha's mouth was still open in a gesture of protest (although she made no move to stop her) when Joshua's bellowing voice drifted to them up the staircase. "Naomi! I need you down here now!"

Naomi paused in surprise. However demanding her husband might be, he had never yelled for her throughout the mansion. It would have been a breach of décor. Usually, if he needed her (which he too often didn't), he would send a servant for her. Whatever she was needed for, it must have seriously concerned him. Having forgotten all about Melantha's meal, she placed the knife back in her skirts and made for the door. Realizing Melantha wasn't following her, she turned around and gestured for her. "Come, Mrs. Turnroad. You need to stretch your legs."

Melantha followed her wordlessly down the staircase. As they reached the first floor, Naomi could hear raised voices in the foyer. When she neared the room enough to see the open door, she paused in utter shock.

Angelique stood there.

As Naomi took in the shock of blonde hair, the short stature, the rounded face and eccentrically blue eyes, she felt an emotion that she rarely felt bubble up inside of her.

Anger.

For the first time, she knew there was someone in the world she truly hated. The last time she had seen Angelique, she hadn't been aware that the woman who smiled and spoke sweet words to her son and acted with the utmost politeness in her home had simultaneously been wreaking destruction on her entire family. Now, though, she knew. Knew this—harlot—before her had created a simultaneous criminal and victim of her beloved son. Had, with a few words, tore apart her son's life, which had previously been so full of promise and opportunity.

She hated Angelique.

She hated her with the visceral hatred of a mother toward anything that threatens her young. In that moment, Naomi also felt for the first time the desire to strangle someone. She wanted to tear at Angelique, hurt her in any way she could, rip her apart the way Angelique had ripped her own heart apart.

So consumed with those foreign thoughts was she that it took her a long time to register the heated argument that was passing between her husband and that…that witch.

"How dare you!" Joshua bellowed. "How dare you darken our doorstep after what you did to him! Do you have any idea what has become of him? Did you think of the consequences at all? And for what?! A childish infatuation? I had to cast him out of my home! His home! Do you have any idea the pain our family has gone through?"

"No, please—"

"You have no right to be here! And whatever it is you want now, you can be assured you will find no assistance here! If I thought anyone would believe me, I would call Reverend Trask on you and laugh as you hanged at the gallows!"

"I lifted the curse!" Angelique said hurriedly.

"If I find you within ten miles of Collinwood again, I will shoot you myself, and hang the conseq—what?"

"I lifted the curse," Angelique said more calmly.

Slowly, in hopeful disbelief, Joshua whispered, "You mean…he's no longer a…a…?" Naomi's heart melted at the sight of her husband, usually so stern and stoic, faltering on the last word. She understood why. God, did she understand why.

Angelique looked stricken and began stuttering hurriedly, "Oh, no, no, he's still a vampire. There's nothing I can do about that now. But I lifted the second part of the curse."

"The second part of the curse?" Joshua looked ready to explode again.

"Yes." Angelique looked slightly concerned. "He didn't tell you about it?"

"He spoke of no such thing." Joshua glowered at Angelique, seemingly daring her to dispute the story his son had given him.

Naomi cleared her throat slightly. She hated Angelique, but intimidating her into silence wouldn't get them any closer to understanding this change of events. "Perhaps we should come inside." She knew her voice held none of the maternal kindness she had used on Melantha. But she thought she needed to sit if she was going to learn more about the horrid curse that had ripped her son away from her.

When they reached the parlor, though, they didn't all exactly sit. Naomi did, heavily; but Anglique perched on the couch like a scared rabbit, and Joshua loomed over her menacingly. "Now, what's this about a second part of the curse?" Joshua spat.

Angelique sighed, as if preparing herself for a long story. "Before I cursed him, Barnabas and I got into a fight. A…very physical one. I think, by the end, we were both acting on instinct. I must admit that I began threatening…his family," Angelique said, eyeing both Joshua and Naomi.

"Barnabas informed me of that," Joshua said.

"Ah," Angelique said. After a pause, she said, "Did he tell you that, in response, he shot me?"

Naomi gave a start. No matter what the cause, she didn't think she could handle hearing about any more violent acts of her son.

If Joshua had any reservations on the matter, though, he didn't display them. "From what I have heard so far, he was most likely just protecting his family."

Angelique bowed her head. "I wasn't faulting him. But, in response, perhaps out of fear and pain, I made an incredible mistake. I cursed him to become a vampire."

Joshua scoffed. "You were using magic to destroy our family before, why not then? I can't believe your curse was little more than an accident."

"No, you don't understand. As a magician, I have never performed magic that was irreversible before."

"You mean turning our son into a vampire?" Naomi asked, her heart falling.

"Why would that be irreversible?" Joshua boomed. "Surely if you cursed him, you can release him from that curse."

"No, no," Angelique said. "The words I used to turn him into a vampire didn't really qualify as a curse. It was a summoning charm I used to bring forth a vampire, as well as a coercion spell to force the vampire to eject its venom when it bit him. Otherwise it would have resulted in little more than the loss of a pint or two of blood for him when the vampire bit. Simple magic, really. Technically, I didn't turn him into a vampire with magic."

"But you can still lift his condition from him, can't you?" Joshua asked with something that sounded disturbingly like worry.

"No," Angelique responded, not meeting his eyes. "I may have summoned the vampire with spells, but the venom turned him quite naturally. It spread throughout his body just as the plague does. Could you extract the plague from a body once it has taken it over? I believe that some magicians can do this, but, contrary to what you might think, I'm actually quite an amateur at magic. It runs in my family, but I myself never had much natural talent at it. Once the venom entered his body, it acted much like any other disease, and I'm nowhere near good enough to cure him of it."

The silence that followed this was painful. Finally, Joshua did explode again. "Foolish woman! Meddling with things you don't understand, and my son was the one that had to pay the consequences!"

"What was the second part of the curse, Angelique?" Naomi said, wanting to defer the subject away from such an incendiary topic—and the despair that was now threatening to swallow her.

Angelique swallowed, still looking up at Joshua with a cautious expression. Slowly, she said, "I—I laid a curse on him that would cause anyone who loved him to die."

" _What?_ " Joshua roared. Then his voice became dangerously low. "How dare you. My son was not enough—you had to destroy his family as well!"

"Wait," Naomi said, her brow furrowing at a new thought. "That can't be true. Otherwise we would all be dead by now." She turned a questioning gaze on Angelique.

"Well, the curse says anyone who loves him," Angelique said. "But magic—"

"—is not a precise art?" Naomi finished for her.

"On the contrary," Angelique said, seeming to warm to the conversation now that it was turned to safer matters. "It is too precise—so much so that it often does not accomplish the desired task of the magician."

"How do you mean?" Joshua said impatiently.

"The curse I laid on Barnabas was a simple one—activated by words. A semantic curse, it's called. To cause a death, the curse had to be activated, specifically by the words "I love you" directed at Barnabas. If none of you actually said these words by the time I lifted the curse, none of you would have suffered from it."

Naomi frowned at this. Had she not said those words to him in their brief encounter? She certainly felt them in her heart. But no—when she looked back on it, she hadn't. Their meeting had been so brief, upsetting, and shocking, that she had not had the time to utter them. And she wasn't sure Joshua had ever said those words in his life. But surely Sarah-? But she must not have, because she was still here. Well, she was a child, with simple thoughts. Perhaps it hadn't crossed her mind to say them. And for that, Naomi was now grateful.

"And how would the curse have—manifested itself?" Joshua asked haltingly.

Angelique gave a half-hearted shrug. "Any way, really. Fate would find the simplest way to cause the death of its victim. An illness, an accident…somehow the loved one would have died."

Naomi's throat closed around rising bile. The thought of such a death, a seeming accident at the hands of a curse, made her nauseous. She took a calming breath. But that was all past now. Angelique had lifted the curse. So there was only one more question to ask. "Why did you lift the curse?"

"I—I made a mistake," Angelique said bowing her head. When Joshua surprisingly didn't explode, she said, "My actions were rash, they were made in a heated moment. I—suppose I didn't realize my own strength. And my mistake was one that can't be fixed. So I'm doing the best I can."

After a few long moments, Joshua said coldly, "And why should we trust you?"

Angelique gave him a deep look, then wet her lips and said, "I love Barnabas."

Joshua looked as surprised as Naomi felt. If she had been willing to lay her life down for it, she wasn't bluffing.

But Joshua was apparently still unsatisfied. "You survived Barnabas's gunshot. Surely you must be able to resurrect yourself in some fashion. Your statement proves nothing."

Angelique shook her head. "I have the ability to heal most mortal wounds, gunshots included. But I can't resurrect myself, especially if the death was caused by magic itself."

At that moment, Melantha, who had been standing in the doorway, walked out into the room, apparently trying to make her way to the tower room and out of sight. At the sight of her, Angelique nearly jumped out of her chair. "Why do you have a vampire in your house?"

Melantha whipped around stricken, and whispered, "How—how-?"

"Oh," Angelique said, looking taken aback, "It runs in the blood. Sixth sense. Now what the devil are you doing here?"

"And what right do you have to pass judgments on the guests of my house?" Joshua boomed. Then, more calmly, he said, "If you must know, we have taken her in. She has need of lodgings."

"Ah." Angelique paused, then seemed to realize something. Slowly, she said, "Mr. Collins…you mentioned that you…cast Barnabas out."

The tense silence that followed was broken finally by Joshua. "Yes. And what of it?"

Looking between the Collins and Melantha, Angelique said, "Among the simple spells I know, I can manage a locating spell. With a map and a few herbs, I can ascertain the location of anything…or anyone."

Joshua's mouth hung slightly open at this comment. "You mean…?"

"If you have changed your mind…if I am not the only one in this room who has regrets…"

"You can help us find him," Naomi whispered.

"Yes." Angelique said.

Joshua met Naomi's eyes. Naomi stared into the gray irises, hoping to convey to him how much she needed this. Even if it meant allying with the devil. _And if you ever held any affection for your son, you'd do it, too._

Finally, slowly, Joshua broke eye contact and spoke to Angelique. "I'll have the carriage prepared."

Angelique held up a hand as if to stall him. "You may find him faster if I travel with you."

Joshua growled and looked to the heavens as if he were internally debating the matter. The desire to find his son must have won out over his hatred for Angelique, though, because he said, "Very well. Our first order of business then is to locate him. Angelique?"

Angelique turned all business. "Do you have a map of the United States? I doubt he would have gotten much farther than that."

Joshua grunted and left the foyer to fetch the map, presumably from his study. Angelique's eyes followed him until he was out of sight. Then her unsettling gaze landed on Naomi. "Mrs. Collins?" she said, with the politeness she had once used and that Naomi now recognized as a method of hers for gaining others' trust.

"Yes?" Naomi answered with an uncharacteristically icy tone.

"May we speak privately?"

Naomi frowned. Little as she wanted to be in a room alone with the witch, she ushered Melantha out. Melantha immediately obeyed.

As soon as the young woman was out of sight, Angelique said, "I apologize for my outburst at the vampire's presence."

"Mrs. Turnroad," Naomi corrected her.

Angelique seemed to take no notice, though, and continued on. "You must know I reacted that way because, not only was I surprised to see another vampire in your house, but…" She seemed to consider her next sentence. "You remember how I said I used a summoning and coercion spell to force a vampire to infect Barnabas?"

"Yes." Naomi did not like the sound of where this was going.

"She probably doesn't remember it, but…she was that vampire. She was the only vampire within a few hundred miles who was new enough to her disease to be easy to command. She was the one I laid in a trance and brought to the Old House."

Naomi's stomach dropped to her feet. "She…?"

"She wouldn't have known. That night was most likely a haze to her. She probably put her lack of memories down to starvation," Angelique said hurriedly.

After Naomi got over her initial shock, she scowled. "No, she isn't the one to blame. That would be you, wouldn't it?"

Turning red, Angelique bowed her head so that her gold locks covered her eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "It was. I used…Mrs. Turnroad…to infect your son."

A shattering sound came from the doorway to the parlor. Both Naomi and Angelique looked up to see Melantha at the entrance with the remnants of a china plate scattered at her feet. "What?" she whispered. "I…turned someone? But I…I…"

Naomi immediately rushed to her side. In the back of her mind, she realized the ridiculousness of the situation. She was comforting the vampire that had turned her son into a member of the undead. She had given her a home. "It wasn't your fault, dear. You heard the witch. She forced you to do it."

At that moment, Joshua returned with a rolled, yellowed piece of paper. He moved to the card table and spread the parchment out on the felt material to reveal an illustrated map of the East Coast of North America.

"Oh, and I'll need something of Barnabas's."

Joshua furrowed his brow. It was clear he didn't like being ordered around by the witch. Turning to the door, he bellowed, "Ben! I know your listening in! Make yourself useful and fetch Barnabas's cane!"

There was a scuttling at the door, and footsteps padded in the direction of the family chambers. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Ben returned bearing the desired object. He approached Angelique slowly, as if she were a wild animal. With a small smirk, Angelique whipped the cane out of his hand by its muddied foot and placed it on top of the map, holding it so that its silver wolf's head was propped at the place where Naomi supposed Collinsport was (it apparently wasn't big enough to earn a spot on the busy map). Everyone gathered in the room held their breath as Angelique closed her eyes. After nothing happened for a few moments, Ben shifted. The sound he made was incredibly small for a man of his bulk, but Angelique's left eye immediately flew open and regarded Ben. "Not a sound," she said imperiously. "I need to concentrate." Ben's face flushed self-consciously in response, and he bowed his head. Angelique closed her eyes again. After what seemed like an eternity, she said in a slow, measured voice, "Lonnú ar an t-úinéir an ruda."

At the sound of the voice, the candlelight flickered and dimmed. The cane quivered frighteningly in Angelique's hand. The witch, however, seemed unconcerned, and released her hold on the object calmly. Naomi watched, fascinated, as the cane jerked and swiveled around like the arrow of a compass. Finally, it slowed and eventually came to a complete stop pointing directly at a city that _was_ on the map.

"Boston," Naomi breathed.

With a quick motion, Angelique whisked the cane from atop the map. The candles immediately sputtered to life and the room's natural atmosphere returned, leaving Naomi with the uncomfortable feeling of standing in the damp sun after a particularly invigorating thunderstorm.

The silence that followed was broken eventually by Joshua. "To Boston it is, then."

* * *

The next evening was bustling with activity. Joshua, Angelique, and Ben were to leave at nightfall—Joshua wanted to adjust his sleep pattern so that he would be able to search for Barnabas all night, every night. The trip would most likely be a long one—after all, by the time they arrived in Boston, Barnabas might easily be gone. And even if he had stayed, Boston was an enormous city. One could live there their entire life and not have the time to know every street. Joshua had relegated himself to the fact that he would most likely not see his home for the next few months.

As Ben hefted the last trunk into the carriage, Joshua heard muffled voices from the parlor. Turning from the front doors, he saw Melantha rushing hurriedly down the staircase that entered into the luxurious room, with Naomi close at her heels. Joshua gave a start—Naomi had told him last night of Angelique's revelation regarding their guest, and he hadn't seen her since. He had supposed that she had barricaded herself in tower room all night she had been so upset. And Joshua couldn't blame her—even though he knew his son's disease was not technically her fault, it was nevertheless disconcerting to be housing the vampire whose venom had infected his bloodstream.

Naomi's voice was raised. "Mrs. Turnroad, I've told you we do not hold you accountable! Please, we understand that you're as much a victim of this situation as our son is."

At first, it didn't seem Melantha was going to break her stride, but near the French doors she whipped around. Not aggressively, just frazzled. In the brief glimpse Joshua saw of her face, he observed red streaks running down her sickly pale cheeks. "You don't understand. You can't! My life was torn apart when I was bitten! My son was terrified of me. My husband had to try to shoot me! And if I met my son now, I would know him no longer. He has been raised without me." A sob wrenched its way from her chest and she leaned against the stair railing. "And now I've forced someone else to live that life."

"Now, dear—" Naomi began, but Melantha interrupted her. Her voice, fortunately, was slightly calmer this time.

"The idea that I'm staying in the house of my victim—it's obscene. You are both very kind for lending your aid, but I am by no means worthy of it. I decided last night that I should…go."

Joshua had nothing to say at this sudden turn of events, as he had been by no means prepared for it. Naomi, however, said softly, "Where will you go? Will you go back to living…how you were living before?"

Melantha gave a sad smile and shook her head. "No. With good fortune, no. I hope to find others who share our malady. I know there must be others, else where do the myths come from?"

Naomi nodded slowly. For a frightening moment Joshua thought she was going to cry. But she didn't. Instead, she took both of Melantha's hands in hers and said, "When you do find others, you know where to find us. And if you change your mind, likewise."

Melantha bowed her head. "I understand." With that, she gently took her hands from Naomi's and turned towards the front doors. When she reached Joshua, she muttered, without looking up, "Good luck."

Then she was gone.'

After staring into the spot she had disappeared to for some long moments, Joshua turned to Naomi. "You'll have your son soon enough."

Naomi swallowed and nodded. "Well, then, you'd best be off. Is everything packed?"

"That's the last one, ma'am," Ben said as he heaved a trunk into the carriage.

"Write, when you can," Naomi demanded.

Joshua nodded. Then, taking even himself by surprise, he embraced her. They stood like that for a few moments, comforting each other, feeling the realness of each other under their arms. When they finally broke apart, Naomi was red-eyed, and Joshua was disturbed to find that he suspected he was, too.

Naomi placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "God speed."

Joshua nodded. He had said his goodbyes to Sarah an hour ago when she had been put to bed, and he had no desire to go through them again. So this was it.

Joshua clambered into the carriage, painfully close to Angelique, and turned to look out the window. As the carriage ambled away, he watched his wife's silhouette blend more and more into the shadows that played across the front courtyard. When he could no longer distinguish the forms, he turned away with a heavy sigh.

To Boston.


	8. Travels and Trials

One of the barmaids had left the tavern to retrieve a keg from shed on the side of the rickety building. Barnabas perked his nose up from his hiding place in the shadows cast by the stables of the building one over. His breath was deep—the heavy scent of her blood, flushed with adrenaline, told him that making a meal of her would make the last fruitless week worth it. Contrary to what Barnabas realized was a myth pertaining to those like him—that vampires only went after young virgins of the opposite sex—that was not what awakened Barnabas's appetite. She was young, yes—her blood would give him more much needed energy. Months ago, he would have tried to allure her, something that her gender would have been conducive to. But Barnabas was well aware that, with his tattered, blood-stained appearance that would disgust even himself if he had a reflection, that was no longer an option. And the woman definitely didn't look like a virgin. No, she was just a meal—and a meager one at that. She was so small she probably had less than a gallon in her.

It was frightening how natural this was becoming. Less than a year ago, Barnabas had sat at a table, eating as daintily as he could in front of Josette so as not to appear uncouth in front of the woman he was trying to convince to spend a lifetime with him. Now his main priority was to waste as little blood as he could during an attack. It never worked, though. His shirt was proof of that.

Shunting off those painful thoughts (all thoughts seemed to be too painful and take too much energy, nowadays) he poised for attack. The moment she stooped over to lift the keg, he launched.

Fangs sank into flesh as his hand flew over her mouth to cover the primal scream. She jerked as he dragged her into the corner between the building and the kegs to finish her off. As he took long, rapid swallows, she gradually stilled, and, feeling safer, he took his hand from her mouth to get her into a position that was more comfortable for feeding. In less than a minute, her nearly empty veins became more resistant to his drinking, and he felt the familiar, instinctual disappointment when he finally began sucking air. He dropped her and leaned back against the wooden panels of the building.

His stomach wasn't nearly full, but after so many months of near starvation a substantial (almost) meal made him feel physically ill. He would have to move soon, but he felt that if he did he'd just end up in the dirt again, or at least the contents of his meal would.

Suddenly he didn't feel so guilty being a vampire. After all, it was a pretty dismal experience.

And then he made the worst mistake—he looked at his most recent victim. Her corpse, pale and sickly as he was sure his was, was splayed in the dirt, impossibly contorted from her flailing. Her dark, curly hair was matted with sweat and lying in stringy ropes down the sides of her head in her utter panic. Her face, which had probably gazed into the eyes of many inebriated customers with years of experience, was now forever frozen in a look of pure, innocent terror.

Barnabas had heard of back of town alleys where men would take advantage of helpless women and sometimes be their murderers. He had always thought they were the lowliest, filthiest of all men, no matter their social standing.

A lump rose in Barnabas's throat.

 _This isn't the same,_ he told himself. _Your relationship to her was the relationship between a wolf and a sheep, nothing more. The imbalance of power between you and any other human is laughable. This girl is no different._

She wasn't the first young woman he'd killed. But for some reason it always hurt even more than it did hunting men. It seemed to mark him as completely inhuman—no longer a man.

She was no Josette. She was classless and probably far from innocent.

But if there was anything being a vampire had taught Barnabas, it was that you could always sink lower.

Compulsively, Barnabas laid the woman out in a less disturbing pose, crossing her arms over her chest.

Then he ran.

He ran until it was past all reason. Boston was a big city, and he ran right through it. Past the taverns, past the town hall, past the markets, into wealthy neighborhoods, back into the stinking areas of the poor—until he collapsed under a bridge besides what looked like an open sewer. It reeked, and Barnabas's now very sensitive nose crinkled at the stench. But it would provide him shelter from the sun.

Barnabas hesitated before pulling Ben's now filthy blanket over himself. He could end it. He could end it all right here, if he wanted to. He had wept so much in the last few months, tears of blood, that he had nothing left to weep. He was too sad to cry. He was too tired to rest. He was too far gone to care anymore.

Barnabas turned his face to the east, felt the discomfort of the slowly graying sky on his pale cheeks.

He could see the sun again.

He could end the pain.

He sat there for a long time, until he grew uncomfortably hot. And slowly, as if it were his body doing so and not himself, his arm dragged itself up to pull the dingy blanket over his matted hair.

He could end the pain another day.

He was a coward.

And he hated himself for it.

* * *

Nearly a week later a carriage pulled up to the front of a small but relatively good inn (in other words, the roads surrounding it were generally cleared of human waste). Angelique hopped out of the carriage practically before it had fully stopped. She had spent the last few days perched as far away as was physically possible from Joshua, and that was only about a foot at most. It was not out of a dislike for him (although she had always found him rather classist and imperious) but rather a fear of his just hatred of her. Sitting in close, uncomfortable quarters with the man whose son she had cursed created what was one of the worst weeks of her life.

Finally, though, they were in Boston. As Angelique's booted feet hit the damp cobblestones, she stretched as discreetly as she could. Finally, she could breathe.

As soon as Joshua clambered out behind her, he turned to Ben, who was seated atop the carriage. "We'll be waiting in the common room." Ben nodded and flicked the reins, and the two horses plodded off towards the stables, pulling their load behind them.

Joshua strode to the wooden front doors and yanked them open. With an obsequious hand, he gestured inside. "After you."

The motion was obviously meant to prod her—after all, the hostility between them was palpable. Angelique, however, didn't rise to the bait. Mostly because she felt ashamed enough of her actions of a few months ago, and couldn't think of any reply that she would truly agree with. Anything she said would come out rude, and that was far from the truth of what she felt.

The common room was lit with dim, yellow lanterns that cast shadows on rickety wooden panels that made up floor, ceiling, and walls. Scattered throughout the area were several tables. On one end of the room was a polished counter, behind which drinks were being served; towards the other was a small fireplace.

"Not half as bad as I expected, with the talk of this city," Joshua stated.

"Wait until we get upstairs to make your judgment," Angelique said sardonically. Her mouth immediately snapped shut on itself. Maybe that had been rude.

But Joshua simply gave a dry chuckle. "Touché."

Angelique let go a tiny breath of relief, then stopped herself. Why was she acting like this? Jumping at his every movement? When did she become such a pansy?

Before she could delve into the question any further, Joshua was at the counter speaking to the tavern keeper. As they spoke (the din was such that Angelique couldn't hear them), a cold wind hit her back. She turned to see Ben shaking snow off his boots.

"I thought most of it had melted with this week's warm spell," Angelique said.

"Apparently not here." Ben snorted. "Damn ocean."

Angelique studied him for a moment. They had been getting on surprisingly well, considering that she had cursed his best friend and forced him into subservience. She supposed Ben was just that good a person.

In another moment, Joshua returned. "He needs the money."

Angelique silently took out her coin pouch. She wasn't exactly wealthy, but her humiliation would have reached its limits if Joshua had to pay for her keep so that she could try to undo what she had done to his family. The first night they had stayed at an inn, she had placed her money on the counter before Joshua could pay for her. He hadn't argued. Since then, they had been paying similarly for their stay by wordless agreement. Joshua paid for himself and Ben, Angelique paid for herself.

After receiving keys, they plodded up the stairs. At the landing, Joshua turned and said, "My room." Angelique and Ben followed him into quarters at the end of the hallway.

The room was by no means commodious, and the mattress on the bed looked rather well-worn, but at least it looked relatively clean. There stood a small writing desk at one end of the room. Joshua hurried over to this and pulled out a map, this time of Boston. Over the last few days, Angelique had continually performed the location spell to make certain that Barnabas was still in Boston. By some miracle, he still was as of the previous night (probably because it was such a large town that a few bodies wouldn't be noticed). But the other problem with that was that Boston was huge. They needed another locating spell just to land themselves within the right neighborhood.

For perhaps the fifth time that week, Angelique performed the spell. After ascertaining that Barnabas was in a neighborhood just south of the city proper, they gathered what they thought they might need for their search expedition: money as well as various supernatural weapons (crosses, a wooden stake—they hadn't been sure how to go about getting holy water). When Angelique had first presented the stake to Joshua back at Collinwood, he had refused to carry it. Instead it had resided in Angelique's pack the whole time. All three of them wore simple clothing, as Joshua would have most likely been robbed where they were going if he had gone out in his daily wear. Seeing him in simple trousers and a shirt was quite amusing.

They set off on foot. It would be easier to approach Barnabas that way. A few minutes out, Angelique turned to face Joshua. Quietly, in the least patronizing tone she could manage, she said, "Barnabas has been gone for quite a few months. Fending for himself. Learning—or not learning—to live with the curse on his own."

Joshua cocked an eyebrow at her, as if inviting her to dig herself deeper.

Angelique plowed on. "What I'm saying is—he might not be the Barnabas you knew. If you thought he was wild when he was first turned, he's most likely absolutely feral now."

Joshua paused and looked down at his boots. The uncharacteristic gesture sent a strange emotion through Angelique's veins. After a few moments of silence, he said, "I'm not sure I ever knew him anyways."

Angelique didn't know what to say to this. So she said nothing, and moved on.

They were well into the backstreets of Boston when they came upon their first hint. What had they expected to find? Bloodless corpses, perhaps. The screaming of victims, Angelique didn't know. But what did alert them to Barnabas's presence ended up being nothing of the kind. It ended up being laughter. Cruel laughter.

Raucous, taunting voices were nothing new to this down-trodden area, and neither was the sight of the source of the sound grouped around a huddled figure. But the three companions just happened to turn a corner to exactly this sight. Four men, all young adults and all filthy, were talking in the loud drawl of drunkards. They ranged around a man who was crouched against the curve of a small bridge. Their positions obscured a clear view of the man, but from what Angelique could tell he was worn. Weary. He had the posture of a man who just didn't care any longer.

"Wha' are you doin' 'ere?" one man said, swaggering towards the man on the ground. "Jus' woke up? Don't you know this is our street?" His tone was in jest.

"We don' let people like you 'ere." When the man didn't respond, the joviality left the face of the questioner with the rapid change in mood that only a drunkard is capable of. "I'm talkin' to you!" One of the men aimed a kick at their victim. He missed, badly. But it prompted the huddled man off the ground.

At full stature, it was obvious. Angelique gave a gasp of recognition. Barnabas.

Joshua, also, gave an uncharacteristic gasp. His, however, seemed to be more at Barnabas's appearance, as his eyes roved up and down the length his son.

Angelique turned back to the scene before them, and couldn't blame him. Barnabas looked terrible. His whole body seemed disproportioned due to extreme weight loss—his tattered clothing displayed very prominent ribs, and every joint jutted out with painful visibility. His face was sickly pale, and his skin clung loosely to hallowed cheeks. His hair was matted with what looked like dried blood, which also streamed down his chin, neck, and chest. His eyes stared wildly at the men, seeming to take in at once everything and nothing at all.

Angelique was right. He had gone feral.

Angelique felt a gnawing sense of foreboding as she watched the oblivious men laugh at this change in situation. One of them grabbed for something. At first, Angelique thought he had missed again, but then she realized—he was holding a small piece of cloth in his hand. The cloth was pristine white against his dirty, beefy palms.

Barnabas's reaction was immediate and violent. A moment before, he had been almost apathetic towards the gang, but now he launched himself forward and grappled at the man who had taken possession of the handkerchief. "No!"

"Why should I give it back to you?"

Barnabas didn't answer for a moment. Then he said, quietly, "Because it's all I have." His voice was raspy beyond recognition.

The man cupped a hand to his ear. "Pardon me, I didn' 'ear you."

Barnabas hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the man by the head and a shoulder and sank frighteningly visible fangs into his neck. The scene immediately broke out into chaos. Cries of outrage sounded from the other men, and a shout of horror rose up from Joshua. _Lord,_ Angelique thought, _his father's seeing this_.

But Angelique had to admit, she was horrified—although probably not for the same reasons that Joshua was. She had known since she was a child what vampires were capable of, had even seen one in action before—but this was the love of her life, and even worse, it was her that had driven him to this.

She had turned her husband into a monster. She had destroyed him.

And nothing she could do would change that.

A little over a minute passed as the three companions stood there in petrified silence, as Barnabas killed, quite gruesomely, all four of the drunkards. And then they stood there in petrified silence as he drank for a good five minutes afterwards. Crouched over the corpses, he looked no different from a wild predator devouring its prey.

Finally, after a few minutes, Joshua of all people stepped out of the shadows towards the curve of the bridge. "Barnabas?" he said tentatively, his voice quavering.

Barnabas made no sign of recognition, just continued to feed.

"Barnabas?" Joshua said, still fearful but a little more forcefully. His hand was outstretched towards his son.

Barnabas's head suddenly snapped up. The sight was not pretty, but Joshua didn't even flinch. "Barnabas. Don't worry. I've got you."

But Barnabas's reaction was anything but relieved. He stumbled backwards, seemingly out of fear, and cowered against the wall.

"Barnabas?" Joshua asked again, cautiously.

"Why…what…why are you here?" Barnabas's eyes roved wildly over the scene before him. "I'm hallucinating." His voice held a frightening tone of surety on the subject.

Joshua's voice rose in pitch, in dismay. "Barnabas…calm. I've come to take you home."

"Home?" Barnabas's voice was small. "No you haven't. You don't want me. My wishes are taking hold of my mind. No."

"I am truly here, Barnabas. Please. Please, believe me." Joshua's voice held such emotion, such desperate hope, that Angelique felt as if she was intruding on a private moment.

"Why?" Barnabas asked, pure confusion lacing his voice.

There was a pause. Then, "Because you are my son. I want you to come home. Please, Barnabas. Come home."

Barnabas looked down at his worn boots. After a few silent moments, he looked up at Joshua again. "Father?"

Joshua gave a weak smile. It looked so out of place on his face, but it was enough. Barnabas pitched forward, seemingly without control, and embraced his father with the fervor of a dying man. Again, Joshua didn't flinch. "Come, boy. We need to be far away from here." He gave a glance towards the bloodless corpses.

Barnabas immediately backed up and turned his face away. He shut his eyes and drew in a ragged breath. "Father, I—"

"Barnabas, for God's sake, I don't need your apology." Joshua's voice, although seemingly harsh, was filled with an underlying layer of relieved exasperation. Angelique understood. Everything could be sorted out later. For now, they had accomplished their task. Turning all business, Joshua said, "We are staying at an inn about a mile from here. Let's be off. We'll get you washed up there."

Barnabas nodded, still looking at his shoes. Joshua turned to go, but then seemed to change his mind. He paused, walked back to Barnabas, and placed an arm across his back. Leading him gently forward, he said, "Let's go."

With that, the party began the slow walk back to the inn.

* * *

Joshua kept a comforting hand on Barnabas's back all the way back to the inn. Once there, they slipped by the innkeeper as quickly as they could (Joshua did not want to have to explain why he was bringing a man covered in blood up to his room). Joshua steered Barnabas towards his door and turned to face Ben and Angelique. "I think it's best we be alone now."

Ben began to walk away without question. Angelique gazed at the two a moment longer, as if thinking on something, then turned and followed suite. Joshua glanced at Barnabas. He seemed to be in such a daze that he hadn't yet noticed the presence of the woman who had turned into what he was. That was probably a good thing.

Joshua ushered Barnabas inside. "Sit," he said, pointing at his bed.

Barnabas frowned at the bed and made no move to obey him.

Joshua sighed. Plucking some clothes from his trunk, he said, "Here. I brought these for you. I predicted you would need a change of attire."

Barnabas stared at the clothing for a while, then looked up at his father. With the rasp of someone who has not talked for a great deal of time, he said, "Why? Why do you want me back?"

Joshua wasn't sure how to answer this. Finally, he said the only thing he could think of. "Because you are my son, and my responsibility."

"Ah," Barnabas said softly, and looked away. After some time, he said, "Father, you saw what I did back there. I don't want to be…anybody's burden."

So that hadn't been the right thing to say. Joshua sighed and sat down next to Barnabas. "Barnabas, evicting you was…foolish. What happened to you was beyond your control. I realize that now. And by casting you out, I only added to your sordid situation. My actions were reprehensible, and I regretted them almost as soon as I committed them." He wanted to tell him about Angelique's appearance and her lifting of the second half of the curse, but he felt that would only cause more problems for now. So instead he said, "I've missed you, son."

Barnabas looked up at him with wide, vacant eyes. Joshua sighed again. Whatever the case, Barnabas needed a serious washing.

After a long few hours with a towel and basin, Joshua stood and looked at the graying sky through the window. Then he looked back at Barnabas, who was visibly paling. His skin looked waxen and sickly, and the dark bags under his eyes stood out starkly in the dawn light. Joshua noted with alarm that he was shaking slightly. Joshua strode over to the window and pulled the shades shut over it. He turned to Barnabas. "In bed. Now."

This time, Barnabas didn't argue. He crawled into the bed and dragged the covers up over his eyes, shivering feverishly as he did so. The gesture tugged frighteningly at Joshua's heart—how long had it been since the boy had slept in a bed? And, although Joshua knew of Barnabas's new sensitivity to the sun, he had never seen it in person before. The image of him sickening as the sun's healthy rays draped themselves through the window was incredibly upsetting.

Joshua watched wordlessly as the figure beneath the covers stilled. Joshua froze. This was also something he hadn't thought about before. His son was a member of the undead. That meant that, during the day, he was nothing but a corpse.

 _No,_ Joshua's mind screamed.

Why he did what he did next, Joshua would never know. With a quavering hand, he touched the sheets, pulling them back, being careful so as not to shed light on Barnabas.

And there he was. If Joshua had thought he looked dead before, it was nothing compared to now. Absolutely still, with not even a rising and falling chest to signify life. Thank God his eyes were closed. Joshua was not sure if he would have been able to handle it if they had not been.

Quite instinctively, Joshua clutched at his son's hand, holding Barnabas's bony one in his beefy ones. It was cold, in that slacken way that hints at the life that was once there. It was also stiff, creaking slightly under the pressure of his fingers. Joshua closed his eyes. For the first time since he was a child, he felt tears well up in his eyes. _Don't,_ he willed himself.

But then he remembered. Remembered the day Barnabas had been born, remembered when he had first held him, remembered when he had first gone off to boarding school. Remembered him playing with Sarah as a lanky adolescent, remembered when he had come home from Martinique, absolutely smitten with Josette. His face, so pale and dead now, had flushed with excitement at the very thought of her. He had been so…alive. How cruel Joshua had been to him back then. How he wished he could take it all back now.

Joshua slumped over and began to sob. They weren't loud sobs, no—they were wheezing, whining ones, the kind a dog makes when it doesn't know where to hide its precious bone. The kind that is so desperate it is painful. The kind that closes up the throat with tension and sends a throbbing through your head.

If only he had been a proper father. If only he had set a good example for a romantic relationship. If only he had allowed Barnabas to be open with him…to come to him with his concerns, maybe he would not have resorted to shooting Angelique. Maybe he would never have used her as an escape in the first place. Maybe Joshua could have prevented all this…or at least have appreciated the wholeness of his family while he still could. Now all he had to look forward to for the rest of his life was caring for a broken son and watching him struggle every day against his own body.

Then something inside Joshua hardened. If onlys and maybes weren't of any use. He had to deal with what he had now. He had a son to take care of, and he had not the first clue how to do it.

That would have to be changed.

Boston was enormous city. People from all walks of life came here. There was a sizeable chance he would be able to find someone, however strange, who could give him information on…vampires.

He had to come to terms with that term, and soon. His son was a vampire. He was vampiric. He suffered from vampirism. However you viewed it, the boy was one of those creatures from myths of old, the childhood nightmares come to life. Looking at Barnabas's prone form, he thought, silently, _How did you come to terms with it?_

 _He hasn't yet,_ Joshua realized.

Sighing, Joshua stood up and placed the covers gently over his son again.

Once outside, Joshua breathed in the fresh morning air. Where to start?

The greatest experts on the supernatural were, of course, pastors. That would be where he would have to start.

It took all morning and the large part of the afternoon, as well as a great deal of embarrassment (most of the ministers just looked at him sympathetically, as if he was a common man who believed silly, common superstitions) to find someone who actually was willing to give him information.

Joshua had travelled all the way to the verge of the countryside surrounding Boston, and had trotted up the stairs to small church, seemingly with no name. He paused, swallowing his dignity for perhaps the twentieth time that day. This was for his son, he thought. He raised his fist and pounded on the door.

The door almost immediately creaked open to reveal a tall, intellectual-looking man with a clerical outfit. His rimmed glasses framed a thin face topped by gray, un-wigged hair. The man smiled upon seeing his guest. "Do come in," he said. "The house of the Lord is always open. May I help you?"

Joshua stepped in. The church was simple and smelled of old wood. He peered around for a moment, then turned back to the pastor and drew in a steadying breath. "Reverend…?"

"Fort. But you can call me Luke. And you are…?"

"Collins. Joshua Collins. Reverend, I came here in the hopes that you could give me some valuable advice."

Fort smiled openly. "That is my trade. What is weighing you?"

"In the village I come from, there has been an awful plague…a plague of the supernatural." How to do this without revealing his son.

The minister frowned. "And…of what nature would this plague be?"

Joshua cleared his throat. "There is a vampire on the loose."

Fort studied him for a moment, then said, slowly, "And you want information on how to destroy it?"

"No," Joshua said, haltingly. "I simply want to have more information on the creature. Knowledge, after all, is power."

Fort opened his mouth, took a small breath, then said, "Please follow me to my study, Mr. Collins."

The route they took went through the sanctuary. As they passed the large wooden cross at the altar, Joshua gazed up at it. Of course, he had attended church his whole life. Had he not, it would have been likely that most of his employers simply would not have worked for him based on principle. But he had never truly believed. He hadn't prayed since his mother had forced him to. To him it was just another silly superstition.

Now, he looked up at the cross, the structure that would surely cripple his son if he ever touched it.

Despite himself, he found himself directing his thoughts towards it. _God, is he truly evil? Do You truly hate him? Is it really his fault?_

_Is it my fault?_

Once in the minister's small, homely study, Fort turned to him. "Now, Mr. Collins, as a matter of course I must tell you that I am not in the business of destroying supernatural beings as some of my colleagues are."

"Do you know of them, though? Slavic folklore?"

"Yes, I happen to," the minister said. "I am by no means an expert, though."

"So you believe in them?"

"If it were not for personal experience, I would not, no."

Joshua breathed a sigh of relief. "We have that in common."

"However, I believe my experience was much more personal than yours."

 _I highly doubt that,_ Joshua mused.

"I, unfortunately, happened to know the creature, or at least the person it once was, somewhat well. I am afraid that, because of that, I harbor deeply conflicting thoughts on the matter. I am afraid I will not be able to help you. I am most sorry."

Joshua was somewhat shocked. He had found exactly the person he needed. The entire situation—he had known a vampire personally, he was conflicted on the idea of destroying a vampire—was so eerily similar. And he had revealed this so readily that, despite the clergyman's words, Joshua was sure he would be able to obtain the information he needed from this man. The minister, although blunt and sharp, seemed incredibly open.

Perhaps, if Joshua was the same, that would loosen all barriers in their conversation.

Cautiously, Joshua said, "I have not been frank with you. I know how to destroy a vampire. Everyone does. The myth is common enough. My concern is with the fact that I, too, know the vampire quite personally."

"Ah. I see," Fort said, and seemed to muse on the matter. "A relation?"

Joshua nodded.

After a moment of silent thought, the minister stood and walked around his desk. From one of the drawers he pulled an old, leather-bound tome. The comforting old book smell wafted from its yellowed, crumpled pages. Clutching the book to his chest, Fort said, "Word that I gave you this will get out to no one. Such a book in this place of worship might be considered blasphemy." Joshua nodded again. Fort placed the book on the desk and pushed it towards Joshua. On its dull red surface was the single word, Vampyre, in a calligraphic hand.

"Where did you get this?" Joshua murmured.

"When my brother was first turned, I did much the same thing that you are doing now. I also happened upon someone who was quite knowledgeable of his condition." Joshua didn't hide his shock that Fort had given up that piece of personal information. Fort must have noticed, because he said, "He was staked a few years later. I had the misfortune of watching it happen."

Joshua felt a dull chill run up his spine.

Fort, however, showed no emotion. "It means I won't be needing this book anymore. You're welcome to have it. You may find it useful—most books on vampires either detail the myths surrounding them or simply tell the reader how to destroy them. This one, I think, was written by someone with personal experience. It's practically written in Middle English, though, so I hope you have a good ability to concentrate."

Joshua didn't know what to say. How, after only one day of searching, had he happened upon this stroke of luck? "Thank you," he said in a low voice.

Fort nodded his head in acknowledgement. "May the Lord be with you."

Book clutched in his hand, Joshua made the long journey back to the inn. When he finally arrived at his destination, the sky outside had turned the deep violet of sunset.

Pushing open the door to his room, he saw the prone form of his son still lying on the bed. Out of instinct, he placed the book down quietly, then realized with a start that nothing he could do would wake his son up at this point. Sighing, he dragged a chair over to the side of the bed. Within a few minutes he was dozing off—he had been awake for almost a full twenty-four hours now.

He had not been asleep very long when a small gasp awoke him. His eyes popped open to see Barnabas almost exactly as he had been when Joshua had first come in, except that his face was screwed up in a frown. That, and something else—although he still looked dead, there was something active in his stance, even lying in bed. He seemed to have come back to awareness. Then the eyes cracked open.

Joshua fought the urge to look away. It was terrifying—not in the sense that a child is afraid of the dark, but there was something so wrong about seeing his son come back to pseudo-life. It made Joshua sick to his stomach, as he watched the familiar brown eyes, set in a frighteningly corpse-like face, turn towards him, even as Barnabas remained lying there.

"What-?" Barnabas rasped, eyes filled with confusion.

"We found you, remember? You're safe now."

It seemed to take Barnabas a while to get his bearings again. "Ah," he said finally. Then, with a quiet groan, he lifted himself heavily to a sitting position. Joshua leaped to help him. After Barnabas was upright, Joshua leaned back and asked, haltingly, "Is it always like this?"

Barnabas frowned in confusion for a moment, then said, "Oh. Yes. But it's worse in the winter, apparently."

Joshua nodded. "I see." This situation was becoming increasingly more awkward. "You are cold, then, often, yes?"

Barnabas nodded but didn't look at him. Joshua sighed. "Barnabas, I would like to set off for home, now, if possible."

It was Barnabas's turn to sigh. "Father, I can't go home. You know that."

Joshua didn't feign ignorance this time. "Barnabas, I am no fool. I know what you are. And I intend to help you through it. Do you understand?"

"So you'll lock me up again? Feed me pig's blood?" There was a sardonic edge to Barnabas's voice.

"No," Joshua said quietly. And right then, Joshua knew what would need to be done. With a tremulous voice, he asked, "Barnabas? Do you…have an idea of how much blood you could survive off of everyday?"

"Without going mad?" Barnabas thought. Then he sighed. "I have absolutely no idea. A pint? Maybe a cup or less of human blood, if I supplement it with animal blood."

Joshua thought. He had no idea what was too much for a human being…could he give that much every day?

Barnabas seemed to realize where he was going, because he said, immediately, "No, Father."

"And why not?" he barked. "Do you have a better idea? It's a lot better than attacking villagers, wouldn't you say?"

Barnabas had the grace to look ashamed at this last statement. He looked down at his boots. "It's just…I've never taken from a family member before. It's a line I can't cross. Once I do that…there's no hope for me."

Joshua made a show of ignoring him and began to unbutton the lace cuff of his sleeve. "Barnabas, you need blood. There is nothing that you or I can do about that. Please, let me help you."

Barnabas's reaction was immediate and vehement. He leapt from the bed. "No!" he cried. "I will not!" Joshua startled. Barnabas looked to be on the verge of hysterics. His change of mood had been frighteningly rapid.

"Barnabas," Joshua said, as if trying to calm a wild animal, "Ease yourself."

But Barnabas kept talking. "I was a grown man! I was going to marry. I was going to have a family, handle the family business. Then I was turned into an animal. And now you will turn me into nothing more than a dependent, helpless as a child. I am not sickly, Father. I am a monster. Implying that I am a victim is a disservice to all the…people…I've…" Barnabas choked on the last, unspoken word and collapsed on the bed again, burying his face in his hands.

So that was it. Joshua's acceptance of him only made him feel guiltier. Joshua didn't know what to say. Looking up at the ceiling, he thought, _I'm not prepared for fatherhood at all._

The only thing he knew how to do was do. Do something. He didn't know how to comfort Barnabas…he was quite sure he would only make the situation worse.

But he could take him home.

* * *

Angelique sighed as she folded her clothes and put them meticulously in her trunk. Joshua had told her they would be leaving before the sun rose, so that Barnabas might be safely in the carriage.

She would not be going.

She didn't even want to see them off. She didn't want to face Joshua, and, moreover, she had absolutely no desire to see Barnabas again. Not now. Just the thought of him consumed her with such guilt she wanted to collapse under the weight of it. And, after last night, the first night she had seen him as a vampire, she wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out again.

She had done worse than kill him. She had turned him into a monster. In a moment of rage, she had destroyed all the life and kindness, the joviality she had first loved in him.

_Well, he did shoot you._

_Yes, but you were threatening to kill his little sister._

Honestly, that in itself was disgusting. Using magic against a lover, that was one thing—but victimizing a little girl? She had had nothing to do with it. So she was wealthy, perhaps spoiled. But that didn't make torturing her right. And that had been the catalyst—he had been turned into a vampire, all for the safety of Sarah.

_What is wrong with me?_

Angelique sighed. She had done what she could, and that wasn't nearly enough. She couldn't even give the family any advice on vampires. All she knew how to do was to create them and destroy them. But live with one? Care for one? That was a different matter entirely. The best thing she could do now would be to get out of their way.

Where would she go? She had no idea. No amount of magical ability would make her wealthy. She supposed she could work odd jobs for a while until she got herself into another ludicrous situation.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. "Yes?" she said wearily.

Ben trod carefully into the room. Angelique had to stifle a laugh. In any other situation, they would be equals. Same class, similar positions in the household. But no—she was his master's wife, and, on top of that, an apparently dangerous witch. So he was submissive, lest he prod the wild beast into aggression. He cleared his throat. "Um…Mrs…Mrs. Collins?"

"Don't call me that," Angelique snapped. She hadn't meant it to come out so harshly.

Ben, though, seemed un-phased. "We're leaving within the hour. Master Collins wanted to know if you were ready."

Turning back to her packing, Angelique said, "You can tell him he needn't wait for me."

"Ah. I'll tell him, then." Angelique was somewhat taken aback by Ben's complete acceptance of her desire to leave straightaway. Not even any argument? Not the tiniest desire for her to come back with them, just to say goodbye?

No. They would never forgive her. And as well they shouldn't. She surely wouldn't.

Within a few minutes after Ben leaving her quarters, Angelique began heaving her trunk out into the hallway. A commotion from the end of the hallway told her that the Collins's and Ben were doing the same. She glanced in their direction.

Both Ben and Joshua were tugging trunks behind them. Barnabas stood in between them. They weren't supporting him, but they were standing in such a manner that they seemed as though they would be ready to do so at a moment's notice. Barnabas's gait was such that Angelique couldn't tell if it was of weariness or relief. Clutching a cloak around him, he bent slightly, and Angelique could see his face, haggard and exhausted in the low light. But happy. Yes, he was happy…or at least not despairing.

She watched the three of them descend the stairs together, a family. Yes, even Ben was a part of it. He had been a family member for a good while now, even though none of them had ever admitted it.

That was a family Angelique would never be a part of. She had destroyed that chance.

She waited in the shadows for them to be safely out of sight before she, too, made her way down the stairs.

"Barnabas," he said firmly, "trust me. I will think of something. That is a promise."

Barnabas looked up at him with a miserable expression etched on his face.

Joshua sighed. "Now, let's go home."

* * *


	9. Homecoming and Hunger

The week of their return trip was surprisingly lacking in stress. Ben drove the carriage through the daytime, while Barnabas lay inside, spread out across the length of one side while Joshua made sure the curtains were firmly closed. They would stop after sundown, while Barnabas made the painful transition to consciousness; Ben and Joshua would rest for the night, while Barnabas stayed in his quarters. Or, at least, that was the plan—Joshua found himself awake through most of the night, continually checking on Barnabas. Fortunately, his bloody meal of the gang of men they had happened upon had seemed to hold him over for the return trip, so he did not seem to be sneaking out during the night. But Joshua felt the need to reassure himself anyways…more for Barnabas's sake than the villagers'.

When they finally reached the gates of Collinwood, the sun was spreading a lurid red smear across the Western sky. Joshua felt the carriage halt. He hopped out of the carriage immediately, taking care to shed as little of the dim dusky light onto his son as he could. "Ben, Mrs. Collins will not know we are here. Go in and find her. Warn her. See to it she is not in hysterics when she comes out. And make sure she takes her time. I don't want her to see Barnabas rise."

Ben gave him a dubious look. Joshua pretended to ignore it. Ben turned and walked to the house.

Joshua looked at the dimming sky. _For God's sake, just set already._

As if his the sun had heard his wish, the heavy rays draping themselves through the winter clouds sank behind the large silhouette of the mansion, turning the area around the carriage completely gray. The inside of the carriage creaked immediately in response as Barnabas shifted his weight inside. Joshua flung open the door and, without a word, supported Barnabas as he pushed himself upright.

"What-? Where-?" Barnabas looked around, blinking. Joshua had found that he was always slightly disoriented after rising from the dead every evening. _How terribly exhausting it must be, dying every morning._

"We're home."

"Oh." Barnabas seemed to suddenly come to full attention. "Father…"

"You're ready for it," Joshua answered his unspoken question. "Your mother and sister will be overjoyed."

Barnabas shot a dismal look in his direction.

"No matter what you've done," Joshua amended. "Or what's happened to you." He helped Barnabas to his feet. Barnabas set boots in the drifting snow and began to shiver violently. _No body heat._ Joshua sighed. He supposed they would be spending a lot on firewood in the years to come.

Barnabas, however, squared his shoulders, and made his way up to the door. Joshua followed at his heels.

* * *

Naomi sat in the parlor, bent over a book. It was Mary Wollstonecraft's recently published novel, _Mary: A Fiction_. At least with her husband gone, she was able to get some reading done. He would always scoff when she read what he considered the outrageous social perversions of that particular philosophe. Of course, he never did anything about it—there wasn't much he could do—but it was less stressful with him out of the house.

Sarah was also bent—over her stitching. And it was a horrible mess. Thread crossed every which way over what Naomi thought was supposed to be the front side of her project (she wasn't even sure what it was supposed to turn out to be). But it was something. Something to do, to keep their minds off of the strange happenings of the last several months. With Joshua gone, Sarah had had the audacity to climb into their bed almost every night, cuddling up to her mother. She would cry often, over Barnabas, dampening Naomi's pillow with crocodile tears. Naomi had held her, spoke soothing words. She wondered when someone would speak soothing words to her.

A soft knock on the door startled her, and she realized she had been reading the last couple of pages without actually comprehending them. She sighed and threw the book on the end table. Probably a servant asking some household question because they didn't want to come up with a solution without consulting the mistress of the house. Honestly. "Come."

"Ma'am, it's me, B—" Ben began from the doorway. But Naomi didn't wait to hear anymore. Leaping to her feet, she catapulted out of the room with a speed she didn't know she was still capable of. Barnabas was home. Out of the parlor. Into the foyer. Through the front doors. Down the steps.

He was there.

She flung herself at him. "Oh, God, Barnabas, you're back! You're back! Oh, I've missed you so! Please tell me you're all right!"

Barnabas staggered backwards into Joshua, and Naomi immediately straightened. "Oh, are you all right? Have I hurt you? Oh, I'm so sorry! Come inside, come inside!"

"Mother, I—"

But Naomi didn't wait to hear anymore. She grabbed a hand—it was shockingly cold. She almost started. _No,_ she willed herself. _You prepared yourself for this._ She tugged him into the home.

In the foyer, she finally stopped and turned to face Barnabas. He looked incredibly ill, especially in the low light of the dozen candelabras that filled the hall. Pale, emaciated, exhausted—her heart leapt out to him with the instinctive worry of a parent. Her first thought was _Food, he needs food,_ but then she remembered just what that entailed. So she moved on to the next priority. "Into the parlor, there's a fire going."

But Barnabas stood rooted to the spot. His wide eyes were gliding around the foyer, pausing on every portrait, every candle, every imperfection in the wood and tiles. The hint of a smile, shy and reluctant, caught the corners of his mouth.

Naomi smiled at him smiling. "Come," she said. Barnabas followed.

As soon as they passed through the parlor, a shriek of "Barnabas!" came from the fireplace, and a blur of pink rushed passed Naomi. She thought of warning Sarah away—she wasn't sure how prepared Barnabas was to handle the little ball of energy—but she turned to see Barnabas squatted on the ground, arms fully outstretched, a huge smile spreading across his face. For the first time since he had walked through the door, he looked certain. "Sarah!" he cried. And then, when she finally reached him, throwing herself into his arms, he actually did begin to cry. His face buried in her mousy hair, he showered her with kisses and breathed into her, crushing her to him as if he could pull her any closer. He muttered something into her hair, something that sounded like words of endearment, adoration, with various I-love-yous thrown in. Sarah responded in kind. "I love you, Barnabas."

And then everything changed. Barnabas froze. "No," he whispered. "No." This time more loudly. Naomi was confused. The scene was so remarkably happy. What could possibly have gone wrong?

But then Joshua took hold of the situation, stepping up quietly to Barnabas. He cleared his throat. "Calm, son. I didn't tell you, because I never seemed to find the right time. The only reason we were able to find you was because…Angelique…came to us and lifted the curse from you. You are free, Barnabas. And we are free to…love you."

Barnabas turned to face his father, eyes wide with shock. "Angelique? But…But how can that be? Then why am I still…? For the briefest, most painful of moments, there was a glint of hope in his tired eyes.

Joshua immediately backtracked. "No, son. That…that is beyond her abilities. In regards to your…condition…the damage is done. But no one will die out of love for you."

"Ah." The word was small, hopeless. Still with his hands on Sarah's shoulders, Barnabas stared at the floor, seemingly battling his emotions. Finally, he sighed. But it was not a sigh of despair. It was a sigh of conviction, of resignation. He clutched Sarah still tighter to his chest. "Well, then," he said, haltingly, "I suppose I will…have to learn to…exist with it."

Naomi's heart fell slightly, even in the midst of such a joyous reunion. No, it would never be the same. But she would try her damndest to make it work.

* * *

Barnabas allowed his mother to guide him over to a chair by the fireside. As he sat down, he swore he could feel each individual muscle relax in a warmth he hadn't felt since he had first been turned. It was incredible just how much humankind took their own body heat for granted. Barnabas felt as though he had been frozen for months, and he was only now just going through the painful process of thawing. He watched as his hands shook uncontrollably in the dim glow of the fire.

His family, including Ben, gathered around him. Sarah clambered onto his lap and clutched her arms around his neck. Barnabas wrapped his arms around her and looked up at his mother, father, and best friend. He found he had not the faintest idea of what to say, especially looking into his mother's warm, brown eyes. _I'm home? Sorry for being a murderer?_ After so many months of living minute to minute, Barnabas wasn't sure he remembered what it was to live like a human. Looking around the place he had come to call home, with its familiar furniture, rugs, and wood paneling—Barnabas suddenly felt very out of place. Just a week ago he had brutally slaughtered four men, had fed from them, and had barely retained the memory of it. He didn't belong here anymore—he wasn't the same person as the boy who had been raised in these halls.

His mother, always so perceptive, sat down in a chair next to him. "Barnabas…it's alright. It's going to be alright." Again, Barnabas didn't know how to answer. Tentatively, his mother asked, "What…what exactly happened? Please, tell me. I want to know what happened in the last few months."

Out of the corner of his eye, Barnabas saw his father shift uncomfortably. Barnabas shook his head. "I…I don't really remember that much. I travelled from town to town…"

"And moved on when your presence became too obvious…" Naomi mused. Barnabas felt relief that he didn't have to explain that to her. Naomi continued, haltingly, "And…and how did you avoid the sun?"

"Ben…Ben lent me a blanket before I left. Honestly, I'm not sure how I did it." Barnabas's thoughts were disjointed. He had only been having conversations for the last week, and those had mostly been of a very emotional and distraught nature with his father.

His mother seemed to understand this, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Barnabas tensed instinctually…even now, even after several months of living with the curse, he did not feel at all comfortable with his own body. It was still too cold, too stiff, too…lifeless. And, despite the fact that he was now stronger and faster than the average man, he still had very debilitating physical weaknesses. It made him feel frighteningly vulnerable, as well as disgusted him.

Without a further word on the subject, his mother began to talk. About their life since he had left…about how Sarah was coming along quite well on the piano, how his father had secured a deal with some European cloth manufacturer. And Barnabas found that it calmed him. He didn't want to talk about the horrific last few months of his life; he wanted to be reminded of what normalcy was. And, after several minutes, as he listened to his mother ramble on about an entertaining incident when one of Joshua's bloodhounds had somehow gotten into the house, he realized that that was exactly what his mother had intended to do.

They spent a good three or four hours like that, and gradually the entire party loosened their tongues. Both Sarah and Ben added to the stories. Even Joshua relaxed slightly, although he did not join in their conversation. The conversation came to an abrupt halt, however, when Sarah asked the hitherto unspoken question. "Barnabas, why did you leave? Ever since you married Miss Angelique everything's been very strange here. You keep leaving and showing up again. At one point I thought you were dead. And then I saw you with blood on your face. And Mother and Father won't talk about it. They won't explain anything."

Every adult in the room froze. After a few moments, Naomi said, quietly, "Because it's your brother's story to tell, Sarah. It's a very personal subject."

Finally, Barnabas spoke. "I think I'd rather it if you explain, Mother."

"Here?" his mother said dubiously.

Barnabas shrugged.

Naomi sighed. "Sarah, have you ever heard of vampires?"

Barnabas clammed up. Despite his appearance of nonchalance, he watched Sarah intently. What would she say? Would she accept it? If she did, would she be able to accept him as her loving brother? The thought, that after all these trials, his sister might still remain horrified of him, trapped his heart in fear.

Slowly, Sarah nodded. "I think so. Daniel tried to scare me with a story about one once. He said a vampire would come into my room at night to drink my blood. But they're not real. Father said so."

Barnabas looked down at his lap. He couldn't bear to watch this scene any longer. The faint blush of humiliation rose into his cheeks.

"Sweetheart, they are. And they are not all wicked, Sarah. They just need blood. It's through no fault of their own. And every vampire was once a normal person, just like you are."

Despite the way that their parents sometimes treated her, Barnabas knew his little sister was actually quite clever. By this time, she had pieced two and two together. "Did Barnabas…? Is that why he got so sick?"

"Yes."

The single word resounded in Barnabas's head as he waited for the verdict of the person he loved most in the world. More than his parents, more than Ben. Sometimes, he even thought, perhaps more than Josette. His love of Josette had been romantic, mutual. For Sarah, he held nothing but pure adoration. And if she ever stopped loving him, it would in no way mar his feelings for her in the slightest.

"Oh." The word was full of confusion, of the shock that only a young child can have. Then, to Barnabas's complete astonishment, Sarah said, "Does he have fangs?"

"What?" Apparently that was not what Naomi had expected either.

"Daniel said vampires have sharp teeth, like dogs and cats. Do you have fangs, now?"

Barnabas lifted his head to look at Sarah. What he saw was not an expression of horror, hatred, or, God forbid, fear. Sarah's face only held curiosity now, with a hint of childish excitement. Barnabas had prepared himself for a number of responses (most of them bad), but nothing had prepared him for this. "Um…yes. Yes, I do."

"Can I see them?"

Barnabas paused, avoiding his parents' gazes. "Sarah, I'm not so sure if that's…"

"Just…go ahead," Naomi said, and made a show of getting up and walking into the other room. She certainly had no desire to see them, Barnabas was sure. And he certainly didn't want her to either. It would be the final proof for her.

Turning back to Sarah, who was looking up at him with a demanding expression, he curled back his upper lip in a grimace. He shifted uncomfortably as his little sister studied his altered appearance. Finally, she said, "Does it hurt even more than normal when you bite your tongue?"

Barnabas used this as an excuse to shut his mouth. "Um…I'm not sure I've done that yet. I…don't have the habit of eating with my mouth full like you do." Suddenly, he smiled. This was all so ludicrous. Here their mother had just told Sarah that her brother was a cannibalistic monster, and all she could think about was how much it hurt to bite your tongue with fangs. Oh, Sarah. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. _I should have known you, of all people, would have accepted me._

Joshua, still sitting awkwardly in an adjacent armchair, cleared his throat. "Barnabas, it's—" he glanced at his pocket watch, "—four in the morning. Go put that little girl to bed."

"I'm eleven!" Sarah said indignantly.

"Most sane adults don't stay up this late, Sarah."

"But I want to talk to Barnabas!"

"He'll be here next evening to talk to you. Now go to bed."

Before Sarah could say another word in protest, Barnabas swept her up in his arms and carried her up the familiar route to her bedroom. This time, there would be no sneaking around. No lies. This time, he would tuck her in, light her night candle, and leave out the normal door. Barnabas almost couldn't comprehend how much of a relief that was. Yes, he was a monster. But an accepted one. A loved one. And he could kiss his little sister good night.

As he pushed the covers firmly beneath the sides of her body, Sarah looked up at him with eyes that made Barnabas's heart melt in his lifeless chest. "Barnabas?" she said in a small voice, deliberately youthful. "You're going to stay this time, aren't you? You're not going to leave again?"

Barnabas gave her an adoring smile. "No, Sarah. I'm not leaving. I'll be here." He bent down and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Sarah giggled and rolled over. "Good night!"

Barnabas chuckled. "Good night, love."

And with that, he backed quietly out of the room.

* * *

Joshua, however, did not go to sleep. Instead, he sat by the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames. What now? Right now the coffin was still in the tower room—that would be where Barnabas would stay for the next few days. But he could always move it to one of the guest rooms—perhaps that would be more comfortable. Homely. He would shutter the windows. Yes, that was it. He sighed and looked at his pocket watch. Half past four. He had the feeling his sleeping patterns would be severely changed over the next few months. After all, he couldn't just leave Barnabas to while away the hours in a house that was completely asleep every night. He returned to be with his family.

At that moment, Barnabas came slowly down the stairs into the parlor. Joshua was immediately aware of his odd gait. Weary. Weak, almost. Finally, Barnabas approached the chair across from him and flopped into it with a loud sigh. His eyes were slightly glazed as he hunched over and looked into the fire. And then it struck Joshua.

"You're hungry," he stated blandly.

Barnabas's head snapped up to look into Joshua's eyes. Finally, in a measured tone, he said, "Yes. I suppose I didn't notice it the last few hours with all the commotion."

Joshua leaned toward him. To his surprise, Barnabas leaned even farther back in his chair and even went so far as to cover his nose and mouth with a hand. "Please, Father," he said, his voice muffled. "I can…can smell it from here."

"Ah," Joshua said awkwardly, and likewise leaned back in his chair. After a few moments of silence, he said, quietly, "You realize, Barnabas, that you are going to have to feed sooner or later." When Barnabas didn't answer, didn't even meet his gaze, Joshua said, "There aren't many options as to how you're going to accomplish that. You know I won't let you go to the village—and I believe you'd rather not, either." Barnabas's abashed expression told him he was correct. "I cannot foist you on a servant. The only person's blood I can offer is my own." Joshua raised a hand before Barnabas could protest. "I recall your words from a week ago. But it is either that, or I destroy you. And I refuse to accept the latter option. The truth of the matter is, Barnabas, that you are sickly. And I am your primary caregiver. I realize that I will most likely not be able to produce all that you need. We will cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, while we think of a better solution, I will feed you." For the second time in a week, Joshua began unbuttoning the lace cuff around his left wrist.

"No, Father. No." Barnabas's voice was not hysterical this time, simply flooded with emotion and, frighteningly, unshed tears. Joshua forced himself to look up from his task. Barnabas continued in a quavering voice, "I—I can't. I can't. Even more so because you are willing. I can't."

Joshua lifted himself out of the chair and came to sit beside Barnabas. Barnabas didn't meet his eyes, just continued to stare at his hands. "Barnabas. Barnabas, look at me." Reluctantly, Barnabas dragged his face up to look at Joshua. Joshua sighed. "I am fortunate. My body produces blood on a daily basis. Yours, apparently, does not. Please, let me give you what you cannot give yourself. I am your father, Barnabas. Let me be one, now." Awkwardly, he thrust his wrist in front of Barnabas. Barnabas turned away, his eyes squeezed shut. He gave a noisy, upset swallow. Then he nodded.

Joshua froze. Of course, ever since a week ago, he had been perfectly willing, intellectually, to give his son what he needed. But actually doing it was a fully different matter. Now that he had jumped the first hurdle, convincing his son to feed from him, now he would have to follow through. Not that that bothered _him_ , no. He had managed to leaf through enough of that book that he knew it wouldn't turn him, at least. But his body and the small, primal recesses of his mind were an entirely different matter. He had just given a natural predator permission to feed off of him, to drive fangs into his flesh. His own son. He hadn't allowed himself to think of what it would actually be like. And suddenly, it seemed like the most perverse idea in the world, especially considering the fact that it was his own son. What if he hadn't really accepted him? What if this experience would never allow him to think of his son as anything but a monster? He was about to _bite_ him, and drink his _blood_ for heaven's sakes. It was horrific.

But he would not display such fears to his son. Seeing that fear and horror on his face would only hurt him more. So he forced himself to watch as Barnabas gently, carefully, perhaps shakily, took Joshua's hand in his and brought the wrist up slowly to his mouth. Of course he could feel the tension, the fear running though Joshua's body right now. Joshua swallowed dryly as Barnabas's fangs—God, he had _fangs_ —became visible, just slightly.

Pinpricks. Nothing really. In fact, the only reason Joshua was sure Barnabas had bit him was because he felt the suctioning motion afterwards, the drinking. The sensation was unnerving, but it wasn't entirely painful. It wasn't really much of anything, except strange. Joshua forced himself to calm down as he watched his son bent over his wrist. And Barnabas—Barnabas seemed to become more comfortable as well, beginning to drink with the simple, content manner of someone incredibly thirsty who has just been offered a glass of water. And Joshua supposed that was all it was. Once the supernatural, the personal nature of the beverage of choice was taken away—that was all it was. He was thirsty.

Finally, after only a minute or two, Joshua felt himself growing woozy. "Barnabas. Barnabas, I think that's enough for today." At first, he didn't think Barnabas was going to respond, but finally the boy lifted his head just slightly, licked the tiny wounds once. Joshua somehow recognized this as form of closing them up—or at least cleaning them up. Barnabas then leaned away from him, returning to his former manner of self-consciousness.

Joshua brought his arm back to his body and, checking to make sure he wasn't going to stain his clothing, laced his cuffs again. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" he said, more to comfort himself than to comfort Barnabas.

Barnabas made no reply for some time. Finally, he launched himself out of the chair. "I'll go get you some food and water."

Joshua made no reply. Let him do that, if it made him feel better. Joshua himself was content. For the first time, he felt as though he had actually done something to help remedy his son's situation.

After several minutes, Barnabas finally came back with a glass of water and some biscuits. "Here." He laid them down on the table in front of Joshua. As Joshua started in on them, Barnabas looked awkwardly at his hands. "Thank you," he muttered. "I feel much better now."

Despite himself, Joshua found himself smiling at his son. "I'm glad I could help."


	10. Season and Sorrow

Three weeks had passed since Barnabas had returned home. Three weeks—and the Yuletide was upon them already. It had taken Barnabas quite by surprise, especially as he had been turned just as summer had been turning into autumn. _Have I been dead that long?_ He thought as he lay in his coffin on Christmas Eve. For some reason, he quailed at the thought—he hadn't seen the sun for about five months. Hadn't eaten real food for that amount of time, either. Hadn't dreamed.

He pushed himself up slowly to an upright position, looked around the room. His father had had the sensitivity not to house him in the cellar. Instead, he had had the windows boarded up on one of the second floor bedrooms, and had placed Barnabas's coffin in one of the corners, parallel to the bed. Yes, he had left a bed in there, as well, for Barnabas to decide to use if he so desired. And Barnabas had tried, if only to reclaim a small shred of humanity. But, in the end, he had spent the daylight hours in the coffin. For some reason, it felt so right, even though it felt so wrong. Nevertheless, the presence of the bed alone, after sleeping for so many months under bridges and vacant, dilapidated buildings, made him feel more human.

The house was silent. Of course—the rest of the family, including the large majority of the servants, were attending various Christmas Eve services. Even if Barnabas had been able to be conscious and active during the daylight hours, he was fairly sure that the consecration of the church grounds would have forbade his setting foot in a church. At least that was what his father had implied—and he was the one with the enormous tome on all things vampire.

While he was glad his father had gotten hold of an informative book on his disease, it was nevertheless disconcerting, walking in on his father in his study, pouring over those pages. It made Barnabas feel so incredibly self-conscious. What was his father learning at that very moment about what his son had become? Was there a description of just how vampires made such good predators? He at least new that there must be some detail on just what it meant to be living by night, dead by day, because about a week ago his father had begun to make a point of urging him up to the coffin well before sunrise. He had made some noise about how he didn't want "a corpse on the parlor floor" in the morning. Apparently—and Barnabas had not really been in a position to learn this yet—he was not only deathly sensitive to the sun, but it also caused him to…pass away…immediately. Wherever he was. As soon as the sun was risen, he was dead. The thought that he might accidentally not make it to his coffin on time added another frightening layer of vulnerability to his condition.

Suddenly, Barnabas very much wanted to be in the company of others. And it was Christmas Eve—he wanted to go to church, if only for the sake of tradition.

He lifted himself up out of the coffin. By now, he was learning to stifle the automatic groan of pain that came with the stiffness of rising in the evening, was learning to perform the action more smoothly. But the pain was still there, especially in these cold months. As he grabbed his cane for support, he fumed over the ridiculous myth that vampires were somehow more elegant, more physically adept than the average human. Yes, he was stronger, faster, made to be a predator. But he didn't feel strong or fast. He felt lame, crippled.

An hour later, after dressing as quickly as he could and hurrying into town, he raced to the doors of the small church that served most of the people of Collinsport, including the Collins family. He paused just in front of the oak doors. From inside the small, familiar building wafted the sounds of Christmas carols, the smell of incense. The mixture of sensory input sent a painful nostalgic feeling through Barnabas's heart. He should be in there, he thought. Was it just last year that he had taken part in all those Christmas traditions? It seemed like years ago.

He stood out there, on the snow-laden street for almost an hour, peering into the candlelit sanctuary. He saw his parents, in the back, their arms around each other's shoulders, little Sarah perched in between, being inattentive as usual. He was struck with the strange dichotomy of utter grief and relief. Utter grief—because he knew that, now that his family was finally affectionate towards each other, as a true family should be, he would never be able to share it in the same way. But at the same time, he knew that his parents' arms would not be around each other right now, and Sarah not sitting in the middle of the two, if they had not suffered together through having a vampire in the family. At least, Barnabas mused bitterly, something good came out of his disease.

As he lost himself in self-pity, he heard the music from the pipe organ and the sounds of many voices fade on what had to be the last hymn. As the commotion of many moving bodies could be heard from within the church, Barnabas slunk back into the shadows of the surrounding tree line. He watched intently for his family. He wasn't sure why—he couldn't very well get into the carriage with them without being seen. But he wanted to see them, at least, the only people in the world save Angelique and a few others who knew all of his secrets, and moreover, who accepted him despite of them.

And there they were. Bundled up against the cold, his mother and father trudged out of the church, Sarah right in front of them, hopping along in her booted feet. As Barnabas watched, a fellow congregation member approached them quite out of the blue. Barnabas didn't even have to strain his ears to hear the man. "Master Collins, can I have a word with ya?"

Joshua shifted uncomfortably at the sight of the shabbily dressed man. "Yes?" he said, somewhat brusquely, although Barnabas could tell he was striving not to be.

Upon Joshua's apparent patience, the man dissolved into a rush of words. "Sir, I'm an employee a yours—" Obviously, Barnabas thought, over half the town was. "—And I need help. My daughter's fallen ill, ya see, and, what with the season an' all, I was wonderin' if you'd be willin' to spare fifty cents, maybe, to help pay fer a doctor? She's runnin' a fever somethin' awful."

A muffled gasp went through the onlookers. An employee, begging _the_ Mr. Collins for money?

When Joshua made no move to reply, the man continued, nervously, "We used to have a bit more money to spare, her brother used to work as well, but he was killed in those animal attacks last summer. Please, sir, I'm beggin' ya."

Barnabas felt his stomach drop to his feet. God. Oh God. This man had lost a son…to him. To feed him. His daughter was going to die because of it. And the worst part was, Barnabas didn't even know out of the dozen people in Collinsport he'd attacked which one was this man's son. He didn't even know what his name was.

He watched with a feeling of nausea as his parents reacted accordingly. Joshua stiffened. Naomi's hand flew to her mouth. Finally, after a few moments of silence, Joshua said, quietly, "What's your name, might I ask?"

"Ned. Ned Forger."

"Mr. Forger, please, may we speak alone?"

Looking stricken, the man nodded and followed Joshua over to a space uncomfortably close to Barnabas. And the crowd—the crowd seemed to collectively take in a sharp breath. Was he going to end his employment?

But no. In whispered tones, although still easily in Barnabas's earshot, Joshua hurriedly took a large number of coins out of his purse. He thrust them into the man's hands. "I hope that will be sufficient?" he said gruffly.

The man stared at the money in his hands in disbelief. Shakily, he said, "Fifty dollars? Fifty…"

Barnabas himself was taken by surprise. That was quite an enormous sum of money. Then his heart fell. Of course it would be. His father was, perhaps unintentionally, trying to assuage his own guilt through money. _You can't but my forgiveness, Father,_ he thought despairingly.

As the man turned to go, Joshua said, quickly, "Stop." The man turned back to him, unsure. Joshua said, haltingly, "Don't…don't divulge the amount of money you received."

The man's look was puzzled, but he did not argue. Again, he turned away.

Barnabas also turned to go. If he had been reluctant to make his presence known to his father before, he certainly wasn't going to do so now.

When Barnabas finally made it back to Collinwood, he let himself wearily through the front doors. So consumed was he with the events that had taken place back at the church that he hadn't thought about the fact that the rest of his family would be home by now, what with having taken the carriage. But he was certainly made aware of that fact the moment he walked through the door.

"Barnabas Isaac Collins!" Joshua's voice boomed from the parlor the moment he had set foot in the parlor. "Where in God's name have you been?!"

Barnabas froze and bowed his head, instinctually awaiting some awful punishment. "I—I—"

"I came to your room as soon as I was home! And do you have any idea what I found? An empty coffin! And no idea where you were! You are never to leave these grounds without my permission, is that understood?"

Barnabas bowed even more under his verbal blows. "Father, I know how this must appear…"

"On Christmas Eve? Of all nights? What poor family member is going to come up to me tomorrow despairing over one of your victims?!"

By this time, both Barnabas's mother and sister had been drawn to the commotion. "Joshua…" Naomi said guardedly.

"Stay out of this, Naomi! After all we are doing for him! I have grown ill feeding him, and this is how he repays m—"

"I was standing outside the church!" Barnabas interjected, unable to take his father's reprimands anymore.

"I can't bel—what?"

"I went to the church as soon as I arose," Barnabas said, in a mumble now.

Joshua seemed to deflate abruptly. Looking flustered and upset, he said, "You should have told me that was your intention last night."

"It—it wasn't a plan."

Joshua gave a half-hearted huff. "That was very foolish of you. You could have been seen. You know I can't reasonably say you've come back from England for a few more months."

Barnabas nodded, still staring at his boots. He hadn't even thought about it, about what his father's reaction might be. And he couldn't blame him, especially with the added stress of feeding Barnabas every couple of days. He could see his father grow more tired, more ill with every feeding. The continuous blood loss, however small, was beginning to show. He knew that both his mother and Ben had offered to share the load, but as of yet his father had refused to allow it. Quietly, shame-facedly, he muttered, "It won't happen again, Father."

Joshua nodded, brusquely, and, seemingly to dispel the awkwardness of the situation, he announced, "Come. We're having the Christmas Evening meal together."

Barnabas nodded glumly and followed the rest of the family into the dining hall. His parents had made a point of having their meals past sundown every night, so that he could spend it with them. Despite the fact the he could not actually partake of the food with them, he was grateful for it nevertheless, the chance to spend that time in the normalcy of a family meal. And then, afterwards, Joshua would take him up to his room every other day and feed him in private. Somehow, the routine softened the disgusting turn Barnabas's life had taken. It was normal. He took his meals, like everyone else. Or at least that was what the Collins family tried to think.

The meal was relatively uneventful. Barnabas sat through the entirety of it stifling the desire to gag at the fumes coming from the food that a year ago he would have found delicious. Now it simply made his stomach turn. His father had mentioned that, according to his all-knowing book, it was due to the fact that his entire digestive system had practically shut down when he had died, and no longer had the ability to take in normal foodstuffs without causing severe discomfort. Although Barnabas didn't put much stock in this—if the book was a reliable as modern doctors, then he really wasn't going to pay any medical information it gave any heed.

When the rest of his family had finally finished the particularly silent meal, his father stood up. "Come, Barnabas."

That was the cue to retire to his room for his feeding. Usually, Barnabas would immediately follow him, his constant hunger winning out over his self-consciousness. But not today. He sank farther into his chair. "I…don't think today, Father."

Understandably, that had not been the response his father had been expecting. "Why ever not? You haven't fed for a few days now, if you have been truthful with me."

"I have been truthful," Barnabas said, looking away from the suddenly intent gazes of his parents and sister. "But I felled a deer two nights ago. I think I can do for the night."

Joshua frowned. He obviously wasn't buying it. "Barnabas, you need to—"

"Look at you," Barnabas interjected quietly, sadly. He felt his face flush with the small amount of blood he still had, flush with embarrassment in front of his family. "Look what I've done to you already. It's only been a few weeks."

And he knew his father couldn't deny this. Joshua had rapidly lost weight over the last few weeks; he was looking paler and paler every day, and he looked perhaps almost as tired as Barnabas himself.

Naomi looked in between the two, then abruptly lifted herself out of her chair. "You're right. Here," she said, beginning to unfasten one of her cuffs.

"No!" Barnabas barked. "That's not—I can't—" He stumbled a bit over the words. He started over. "I heard! I heard everything that man, Forger, said to you, Father! How can I let you coddle me so? I'm a killer! I don't deserve the sacrifices you have made! Any of you!" With that, he stood up, practically tripping over his chair as he bolted out of the hall. The doors clattered behind him, leaving Joshua, Naomi, and Sarah to look at each other in quiet astonishment.

* * *

After quitting the dining hall, Barnabas did not go back to his room. He didn't want to—to go there, where his coffin was, the testimony to what his life, or lack of one, would be from now on. No; instead, for some unknown reason, he decided to make a trip to the Old House, with the random motivation that only the very emotionally distressed can have. Walking dejectedly into the foyer, he paused and looked around at his childhood home, the home he would have shared with Josette. He found himself thinking back on his childhood—How could he have possibly known where his life would end? When he was just a young schoolboy, how could he have imagined that, in less than two decade's time, his life would be in such astounding tatters around him? It was almost inconceivable. It didn't seem like simply a lifetime ago—it seemed like an entirely different person had grown up in this house, lived through his memories. Who he was now, what he had gone through, had so incredibly changed that he could barely reconcile his former self to the self he was now. He thought about his last true meal, the last time he had seen the sun, the last time he had truly slept, and dreamed. If he had known that, sitting outside on the Old House's balcony on the dusk of the day of his altercation with Angelique, if he had known that would be the last time he would see blue skies, would feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, then he would not have taken it so for granted. He would have relished it, every day of his life that it was present. If only he had counted his blessings. If only he had known.

In the parlor, Barnabas stared blankly at the spot where he had been bitten, where his life had once and for all been destroyed. He stared at it for several minutes, frozen in his own grief and disbelief. Had it really all ended there? Barnabas dragged his eyes away from that hated spot, across the room—and straight into the body-length mirror opposite it. Barnabas was taken aback. He knew the lore. He knew he had no reflection—that was why he had avoided mirrors as much as he could over the last few months, which wasn't hard, considering his circumstances. But, completely on accident, he was now gazing into one—a completely empty one. He had no reflection. And he could not avoid that fact any longer. He had no reflection.

Finally, Barnabas sank to his knees on the exact spot where he had been bitten over five months ago, silent tears of blood running down his cheeks. Out loud, his voice distorted in anguish, he cried, "I'm sorry, Angelique! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…oh, why…why?" His voice faded into a torrent of sobs as he buried his face in his hands. Hands that had held struggling victims down countless times over the last several months. A face that was constantly smeared with blood. Barnabas wept so hard he began to cough violently. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't go on. It had to end.

And that thought was suddenly so incredibly clear to him. It had to end. And finally, he was past the point where he would have reservations about it. He was beyond caring. He knew, with sudden surety, almost with indifference, that he had reached the mental state in which he could do it. Destroy himself. No matter the pain.

But where? It would have to be somewhere far away from any shelter, so that he would not be tempted, in the last few moments of his existence, to change his mind and flee for shadow. Part of him, in his distressed state, considered a poignant spot, like the one he was in now, simply out of instinct. The place where he took his own life should have meaning to him. But no, he told himself, that is the point, isn't it? Your existence is meaningless now. It is worse than meaningless—it is harmful. Harmful to everyone around you. Why should your place of death have any more worth than the mockery of a life you carry on now?

Your self-pity is disgusting, he told himself. Just finish it.

Still weeping quietly, he let himself out the front doors of the house in which he was born.

* * *

Several hours later, Joshua lay in bed next to Naomi's sleeping form, staring up at the canopy of their four-poster bed. Every once and a while, he would glance in his wife's direction. They had only begun to share a bed a few days before Joshua had left for Boston. Their habit of keeping private rooms was not strange in the least—it was a matter of choice in their modern era, although Joshua had heard that the younger generation was beginning to find it outdated. But, in the tumult of emotion they had experienced over the last several months, the Collins couple had begun, perhaps unwittingly, to seek solace from each other. Then came the night that Naomi had fallen asleep in his private rooms after a bout of crying into his chest. When she had continued to fall asleep in his rooms every night, it seemed strangely natural, and Joshua had found himself wondering why he had spent the last two decades apart from her. Despite what he had said to Barnabas over half a year ago, his marriage had initially been based in love in addition to money, or at least affection. Naomi had been beautiful, and more than that—she had been so caring, so attentive, she had hung on every word he said, had always been engaged in all of his endeavors. He remembered falling in love with her…when had that changed? Over twenty wasted years of not giving a damn about her. But he had. He really had. He had just never known how to show it. And he saw the difference in her now that he was once again giving her the love she so deserved. Her lines had soften to pleasant aging, and she drinking much less nowadays. Well, perhaps something good had come of Barnabas's condition after all, Joshua thought sardonically.

At that thought, Joshua was suddenly reminded of the pain in his wrists. He winced, and gently, so gently, pulled his arm out from under the crook of his wife's neck. He sat up slowly, with a groan—it seemed, ever since he had begun feeding Barnabas, he was overly sensitive to every motion. The constant blood loss was starting to make him feel as though he had influenza. Walking gingerly into his study, he lighted a small candle and surveyed his wrists. Over the past few weeks, they had become hopelessly bruised. No matter how gentle Barnabas had tried to be, and Joshua knew he tried, there was simply no way to have your blood sucked out of you and not become bruised with the pressure. Dozens of tiny bite marks, some faded, some fresh, dotted his wrists, although he knew Barnabas had tried to bite over the old wounds. And now they were bleeding again. And there were stains on the cuffs of his nightgown. Joshua sighed. He was getting to a point where he felt horrible with every drop of blood wasted.

Joshua pulled his now ever-present ream of gauze out of one of his desk drawers and carefully wrapped up his wrists. Then he looked at the sky. It was still in the thick of the night, but if one peered far enough into the horizon, one could see the faint fuzziness that said dawn would approach within the next couple of hours. Joshua felt a faint tug to check on Barnabas, to make sure he was safely within the house. It was frightening, really, how easily Barnabas might be destroyed. In all other ways it was incredibly hard to kill a vampire—Joshua still wanted to use that word, kill—but all it would take would be one mistake to end Barnabas's existence forever. Joshua had not told Barnabas this yet, but the greatest reason for him pressuring his son into retiring to his coffin early was simply because he wanted to take no chances. He lived in fear every morning that Barnabas would not make it in time, that one of the blinds would accidentally have been left open. In fact, he forced the family and servants to close most of the blinds though out the day, despite the utter darkness into which it cast them, just as a precaution.

Joshua made his round of the mansion, searching for his son. Not in his room, nor in his coffin. Not in the parlor. Not in the library. Not in Sarah's room—Joshua trusted Barnabas to give him the freedom to enter it at leisure, he knew that his son would rather take several lives in the village than attack his own sister. By this time, Joshua was feeling a vague sense of anxiety. He forced himself to calm. He's probably out hunting in the forest, he told himself, and this is a huge house. But, nevertheless, he had exhausted all the usual places. Where else? The Old House?

Instead of wasting time searching the entire house, he made the trip to the Old House. _You're overreacting,_ he thought. _This is just a precaution._ But after several fruitless minutes of searching, he truly began to panic. _Perhaps my worries have not been so ridiculous after all._ He strode out into the night, nearly jogging, panting with exertion and fear.

"Barnabas!" he cried. "Barnabas!" He didn't even know what he was doing. The grounds were huge. There was only an hour left. The sky was growing lighter to the point where it was actually obvious. Where was he? Where was he? With an icy clenching of the heart, Joshua remembered the mood Barnabas had been in, the words he had left them with when he had run from the table earlier that night. What if that had been more than an expected display of grief? No, no. It was Christmas morning. Joshua refused to believe it. Barnabas would not do it. He couldn't. "Barnabas, please!" How would he ever find him in time?

After a quarter hour, he was out in a wide field set on a rolling hill just barely visible from Collinswood, but still on their property. Completely exposed…not a tree in sight. This search was going to be in vain, Joshua knew. His son was probably in the cellar of Collinwood, weeping over his condition. He hoped.

And then a figure shifted slightly, several meters from where Joshua was. Joshua whipped around. In the dim light, he could see the outline of a man, standing in the tall grass, oriented towards the house. But the man's face was turned towards him, by the looks of it. "Father?" Barnabas croaked.

Joshua nearly wept with relief. "Barnabas! Barnabas, what are you doing here?" he said with giddy, anxious laughter. He practically ran towards his son.

But Barnabas backed away quite suddenly. "No, Father, please."

Joshua halted immediately. He had a nauseating sense of déjà vu, when he had first discovered Barnabas in the mausoleum. When he had pushed him away. "Why are you out here, Barnabas? The dawn is coming," he said urgently, exasperatedly.

Barnabas gave no reply, merely looking at his boots. The expression on his face was enough.

"You were going to do it, weren't you?" Joshua said slowly, with what he knew was a tone of shock. "You were going to…to watch the sunrise. You were going to take your own life."

Not looking up, Barnabas muttered, "I'm not sure if a vampire can take what it no longer has, Father."

Despite himself, Joshua exploded into a temper. "How could you?! How could you do that to your family?! Do you have any idea what that would do to your mother, to your sister…to me?! Do you have any idea the pain you would have caused us?! How utterly selfish! How dare you?! Did you even leave a note?! An explanation?! Would we have just woken up to find an empty coffin and a pile of ashes?!"

As Joshua shouted, he could see Barnabas begin to shake. Finally, to Joshua's horror, his son dissolved into tears in front of him for the first time since he was a boy.

"I can't, Father! I can't! I can't go on…like…this," Barnabas sobbed.

Joshua halted, about to begin his tirade again. Then he softened abruptly. What had he done? What could he do? Instinctually, Joshua ran the few steps to his son, catching him haphazardly by the arms. Together, they sank to their knees in the wild grass.

"Why?" Barnabas wept, clutching at his father's hands. "Why did I do it? Why did I hurt Angelique? If only…if only…I didn't…I can't do this, Father, I can't! And I deserve it, every moment of it! Why? Everything was right, everything…and I destroyed it all! Everything…Josette. My entire future is gone, everything I had hoped and planned for. I don't know how to go on, Father! I can't live with…with the shame, the pain, the guilt! It hurts, it hurts…please…How did everything go so wrong? When I first awoke…in the coffin…you can't imagine…and learning…learning…I disgust myself. Father, I want it to end! I want to die! Please…please…" Barnabas's words became gradually incoherent, and his sobbing subsided into jerking breaths.

By this time, Joshua was openly shedding quiet tears as well. Shakily, he clutched his son to him in an embrace and whispered, "I know, I know, Barnabas. Shhh."

"Don't say it's not my fault! It is! Those are empty words!" Barnabas said into his shoulder.

Joshua shook his head against Barnabas and slowly, shakily said, "Do you know…how much pain it gives a parent…? All I want to say to you right now is that it will be alright, everything's going to get better. But it's not going to get better. It's not going to heal. And it hurts, knowing there's nothing I can do to fix it."

Barnabas gave a strangled sob at this. After several moments, he backed away slightly out of his Father's embrace, enough to look him in the face. His cheeks were stained with the blood of his tears, and more blood was welling behind his lids. Joshua swallowed another round of grief at this sight. Looking away at the ground beside him, Barnabas asked, in the halting tone of one who is trying to hold back tears, "I wanted to be a father. God, look at me. I can't even take care of myself."

"Most fathers aren't struggling with vampirism," Joshua said with a shaky attempt at a laugh.

Barnabas smiled wanly. Hesitantly, he said, "Do…Do you think I would have made a good one?"

He had said it almost flippantly. But Joshua knew, despite the tone, that the question was loaded with emotion and regret. Joshua sighed and returned the smile. "A better one than I. I've seen you with our little Sarah."

"You, who have given your blood to your vampiric son for the last few weeks? You, who ran out into the middle of the night to ensure your son was safe?" Barnabas shook his head sadly. "Father, if only I could have been a more ideal son to you. I am deeply sorry, more than you can possibly know, for all the times I disrespected you."

Joshua shook his head and pulled his son into his embrace. "Barnabas…I love you. More than you can ever know. I may not have always realized it, may not have ever shown it, but I do. I have always loved you."

Barnabas nodded into his shoulder, choking on a sob. "I love you, too, Father."

They remained like that for several moments, until Joshua began to feel Barnabas shiver and breath raggedly under his arms. With alarm, Joshua looked towards the sky. With all the heart-wrung admissions, he hadn't even noticed the continuing graying of the dawn sky. Like an opposing army, the sun marched on, intimidating in its ruthless constancy. "Barnabas…" Joshua muttered.

"I know," Barnabas said, and backed away, struggling off the ground. Joshua rushed to help, grabbing him under one arm and heaving him roughly to his feet. He began to drag his son bodily down the hill. He could tell Barnabas was growing weaker by the minute. He panted, limped, and frequently stumbled as Joshua pulled him towards the house, not stopping when Barnabas would fall. His eyes flitted to the second story of the house, and he saw with utter terror that the sun's rays were falling slowly down the Eastern Wing. He zeroed in on the double doors that led to the parlor, racing Barnabas along with the fearful strength that only a parent can muster in the face of their child in danger. He ran, heedless of the pain in his joints, his shortness of breath, practically carrying Barnabas by the arm to the door.

By the time they reached the double doors, the sun's terrifying rays had reached the top of the door frame. Joshua pushed Barnabas inside and slammed the doors shut.

"Who's there?" Ben yelled from the adjacent room.

"Ben! Help me draw the shades! Now!" Joshua raced over to the nearest window. Ben made his way into the room, stared at Barnabas in shock for a moment, then ran to the other windows and began to help.

When all the shades were safely drawn, Joshua turned around to his son, who was doubled over on the floor. Joshua crouched down next to him. "Barnabas. Barnabas?"

Barnabas clutched weakly for his hand, and found it. "Father…"

"That's alright. We'll get you up to your coffin. Don't worry."

"No, it's…" Barnabas moved his hand slightly. And then Joshua felt it. He gripped Barnabas's hand and brought it up to his face, hissing in a breath upon the sight. Up to his forearm, Barnabas was covered in angry red blisters, and in some places the skin was even blackened. So the light had gotten him.

Upon his man-handling, Barnabas drew in a sharp hiss and whimpered slightly. Joshua immediately placed his hand gently back down. "You'll survive?" he asked shakily. He had no idea whether one burn was all it took.

To his utter relief, Barnabas nodded stiffly and let out another hissing whimper of pain. By this time, his eyes were screwed together in an expression of agony and he was lying curled on his side. Joshua knelt over him. "Barnabas?" He lay a hand on his shoulder. Barnabas did not respond, other than to spasm briefly and draw in a very pained breath accompanied by a sort of popping sound. A death rattle, Joshua realized with shock. Gently, cautiously, Joshua turned his son's face towards him. The body was very resistant to the movement, and Joshua carefully released his hand so as not to cause permanent damage. His son's corpse lay before him, with an oddly harmless appearance, so exposed by the openness of the room. But chilling and upsetting nevertheless. Joshua swallowed noisily to dispel the emotions that were threatening to burst from him. Sighing, he turned to Ben. "Ben, will you help…?"

Ben nodded gravely, with an expression that clearly said you're-telling-me-the-whole-story-later. As they moved around Barnabas's body, a small piece of unwarranted black humor flitted through Joshua's mind. _So, I ended up with a corpse in my parlor after all._


	11. Vocation and Visitations

Barnabas woke up with a start, as usual—but he received a second upon finding his coffin lid already thrown open. And a third, within the same second, upon seeing Sarah's face. She leaned over him, and, with childish excitement, said, "Barnabas, two letters came for you today!"

All this had happened within a few moments, and it took Barnabas quite a while to register what his sister was saying. Two letters? What the devil was she talking about? But he humored her. Gently pushing her aside, he pushed himself up and got awkwardly out of his coffin. If he had thought that movement had hurt before, it was nothing compared to now; now that he had burns running up his arm and his jawline, only a few days old, most movements were vaguely disconcerting and uncomfortable, if not downright painful. He was beginning to become concerned about this—would they heal? The thought of having these scars for an eternity was concerning to say the least. _You fool,_ he told himself, as he had told himself many times over the past few days. _What with all your self-pity, you managed to make your situation even worse._

What was even worse was that his mother and Ben had begun to walk on eggshells around him, as though he might go insane with grief at a wrong word. Fortunately, Sarah was completely oblivious as to what had given him the scars, and his Father had heard his entire outpouring of grief. Quite contrary to the norm, Barnabas felt as if his Father was the only one who truly understood him and his motivations in the aftermath of his attempt.

He gave Sarah a wan smile. "Alright, now what are you talking about?"

Sarah hopped up and down. "Father wants to talk to you."

Barnabas had a vague feeling of foreboding. He wasn't sure why. His father was becoming closer and closer to him every day. But the fact that he was sending a messenger to tell him that he wanted a talk with him harkened back to the days, not all that long ago, when he would have Barnabas come to him so that he could receive castigation, physical and, when he was older, simply verbal.

Barnabas sighed. "Alright, Sarah." They walked out of the room, and Barnabas made his way to the study.

"Oh, no," Sarah called after him. "At the dinner table."

Barnabas regarded her for a moment. How odd she was acting. Sarah seemed perpetually excited, but this time she seemed to be hiding something in her smile. Shaking his head, he followed her down to the dining hall. Joshua and Naomi were already seated at their places. And Ben—Ben was standing in a corner. Why was he here? He wasn't a server. Barnabas hid his confusion and gave Ben a nod and a smile. Ben smiled back, looking just as confused as Barnabas.

Before Barnabas sat down, Joshua stood up and cleared his throat. "Ben?"

"Yes, sir?" Ben said.

"I called you here to inform you of a decision I have made regarding your employment here at Collinwood."

Ben's head snapped up, a fearful expression on his face. _No,_ Barnabas thought with a sudden stab of worry. _Why now? What would make Father want to send him back to prison? After all he's done for this family? For me?_

"Put yourself at ease," Joshua said immediately. "Mr. Stokes, in the past several months, you have performed well beyond what was required of you in this household, namely, in regards to Barnabas's vampirism."

The word sounded awkwardly in the hall, but Joshua had said it with such purposeful nonchalance that the rest of the family couldn't flinch. Barnabas stifled the urge to stare down at the table.

Joshua continued. "You have made many sacrifices, took many risks, on Barnabas's behalf, risks that even a family member might not have taken. You gave him aid before any of his own family even knew the situation."

At this, Ben interrupted, stammering, "Well, it was only cuz he was so good ta me, ya see, when I first—"

Joshua held up a hand. "Whatever the case, you have proven your loyalty to him. Not the loyalty of a servant—the loyalty of a friend."

The hall was silent as the family waited for Joshua to reveal what everyone already surmised was coming.

"That is why I have decided to pay for your freedom, Ben. You will not have to return to prison, and you will not have to work here, if you desire to leave."

Ben's jaw dropped open. Barnabas felt himself go cold. He was happy for Ben, he truly was. But not only had he not been expecting this decision at all, but he also felt a pang of loss at the idea of Ben's freedom. His Father was right. Ben was a friend. And now he would be free to leave. Despite his growing closeness with the rest of his family, Barnabas could not bear the thought of the man who had stayed by his side throughout all of those trials disappearing from his life.

Finally, Ben stammered, "But—"

Again, Joshua interrupted him. "You will doubtless be looking for employment, then. Although you are free to do as you wish, I do have an offer to make you. I would like to find a way for Barnabas to become involved in the family business once again. However, he will need an aid, to assist him in his doing those tasks that he is unable to do due to his disease. You have shown much capability and understanding in regards to his situation. If you like, I can employ you as his personal aid. I can discuss the particulars of what such a job would entail and the pay you might receive after dinner."

Again, Ben looked stumped. Of course—this had all come as a shock to him as well. Barnabas, however, felt a vague sense of excitement, as well as anxiety. His father wanted to involve him in the business again. He would have a purpose, he would have some measure of independence. He would not be a child. He caught his father's eye, and his father gave him a knowing look. Of course, his father had known how his feelings of uselessness and dependence were affecting him. And he was giving him an out. A way to earn his keep once again. Barnabas had no idea how to express his deep gratitude for his father's decision.

Ben finally broke the silence by saying, "I accept, sir."

Joshua snorted. "Well, don't accept yet. You haven't even been given a description of your duties or your pay."

Ben seemed to mull over this for a moment. It must be shocking, Barnabas thought, for him to finally have some freedom of choice. To know he could turn this job down. To be able to bargain for fair pay.

To break the awkward silence, Joshua, said, "Well, anyways, a prospective employee is invited to the table. Please, join us for supper." Joshua gestured at the chair next to Barnabas.

Ben seemed to consider this for a moment, then hesitantly walked around the table to take the seat. He looked incredibly uncomfortable and out of place. Barnabas smiled. _He'll grow accustomed to it._

As the rest of the family began to dig into their meals when the dishes were brought out, Ben leaned into Barnabas. "Did you have any idea about this?"

Barnabas smiled and muttered back, "No. But I look forward to working with you. That is, if you accept."

Ben frowned pensively and picked up one of his forks, studying the silverware. _It's probably the first time he's ever eaten with real silver,_ Barnabas realized.

Seeming to notice that Barnabas was studying him, Ben made a show of spreading his napkin on his lap, and took a bite of the well-prepared food. Barnabas smothered a small smile, and turned back to his empty place.

* * *

An hour later, Barnabas was in the foyer, preparing to go out, when his father's voice interrupted him. "Barnabas, where are you off to?"

Barnabas gave a start, then turned slightly. "I was…er, hunting." He still felt uncomfortable speaking directly on the subject.

"Ah." Joshua paused. Then, with a tone of forced nonchalance, he said, "The hunting's been good, recently?"

Barnabas nodded, not looking at him. "Although I'm not sure how long that will last. It will only take the deer a season to realize there's a major predator in this area."

Joshua cleared his throat awkwardly. "May…may I join you? I would like to speak with you. I have some news that may be of import to you."

Barnabas frowned. Ah, yes. Hadn't Sarah said something about letters? "Father, I can wait. Let's talk."

"Nonsense!" Joshua said in an overly enthusiastic manner that was clearly hiding his discomfort. "It's been quite a while since we've gone hunting together."

Barnabas smothered a sigh of exasperation. Before he could stop himself, he said, "Father, understanding my disease does not require becoming intimately acquainted with its more disturbing characteristics. You know I do not hunt as I used to."

"I suppose I should leave my rifle behind, then?"

Barnabas had an urge to scowl. His father's completely casual tone regarding his hunting was becoming infuriating. Barnabas understood that his father was trying to put him at ease, but it was beginning to sound naïve. Finally, he sighed. "Yes. Leave behind the rifle."

They walked out into the chilly night air. Joshua was bundled up in a cape. Barnabas, on the other hand, wore minimal layers, so that he might be more agile in his confrontation with his prey. The snow and wind bit him with an agonizing cold. Screwing his face up against the chill, Barnabas turned to his father. "So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I'm sorry I didn't inform you of my decision earlier. I hope you are willing to involve yourself in the family business once more?"

"Of course," Barnabas said, mildly distracted by the faint sent of rabbit. "I am very eager to begin. But…how? I used to travel on business. But I think voyages to China are no longer an option for me."

Joshua shrugged. "I would like to have you start easing back into it with accounting matters and such. Travelling can come later…when you are more accustomed to your situation. It is my hope that Ben might assist you with that, as he has accepted my offer. He would travel with you, safeguard you, make excuses for your absences during the day and such."

"And where would I find food? Ben isn't going to fulfill that necessity, too," Barnabas said, in a statement. On this matter, he would brook no argument. And there, he saw it. Right along the tree line. The rabbit was frozen, having taken heed of their presence.

Joshua sighed. "That is an issue we can resolve when the time arises."

Barnabas threw an arm across his chest. Joshua looked startled for a minute, then seemed to realize the reason for Barnabas's movement. He froze, or, froze as much as he could. Barnabas, with his preternatural senses, was still aggravated by the miniscule sounds he made—his shallow breathing, his fidgeting. But Barnabas was now turned to the hunt. He had no time to reassure himself of his father's willingness to observe this. He had chosen to. The hunt was more important.

Barnabas slunk as carefully as he could through the darkened field toward the tree line, where the silhouette of two elongated ears, accompanied by the tantalizing sent of live, mammalian, warm-blooded prey, alerted Barnabas to its position. When he was only a few yards from it, he pounced forward and caught it under his hands. He snapped its neck immediately and drove his fangs into it, gulping his meal down quickly. After several seconds, he tossed it behind the tree, and turned slowly, uncomfortably back to his father.

If Joshua had felt squeamish through any part of that scene, he hid it well. "You're getting neater," he commented idly.

Barnabas huffed. "It's pitch-dark out here. You can't see a foot in front of your own nose."

"No," Joshua said, "but you can. Here, these are the letters that came in for you today." He rummaged in his waistcoat and produced two sealed envelopes.

"Ah, yes. Sarah told me." Barnabas studied the envelopes. "You didn't open them?" he asked dubiously.

Joshua made no reply.

Barnabas shrugged. "Most likely someone who was not yet notified of my 'trip to England.'"

Joshua's silence at his suppositions was becoming slightly unnerving. Barnabas looked at the first envelope. The sender: Mrs. Alexina Ilmend.

Barnabas looked up at his father. "I have no idea who this person is."

Joshua gave a pointed glance at the letter. "Well, open it."

Barnabas tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter inside.

_Dear Mr. Collins,_

_Before I introduce myself, I must apologize for the tardiness of this letter. It should have been sent to you long ago._

_I am the mistress of a council that is formed specifically to aid in your adjustment to your new situation. The council is comprised of many people, some of whom share your disease, some of whom do not. I myself have been afflicted with it for a few centuries. It is our desire and goal to provide those who are newly turned with a means to find shelter during the day and feed in such a way that is not harmful to our peers, as well as gain a full understanding of your predicament and meet others who have struggled with it as well._

_Many cities contain councils such as these, and are generally known by the name of Families. I myself am Mistress of Bangor, and serve as guide to all of our kind within the area surrounding. Unfortunately, your presence only became known to me upon my encounter with a certain Melantha Turnroad, and therefore I was very late in my introduction to you._

_It is my deepest desire to meet you, and I plan to visit Collinwood as soon as possible. I should be in Collinsport within a week after the arrival of this letter. I am bringing with me the young lady Mrs. Turnroad, as well as one of our many paid providers, in hopes that we might arrange something in this regard._

_Sincerely,_

_Alexina Ilmend_

_Mistress of Bangor_

Barnabas stared at the letter for a few moments. What was this?

"Well? What does it say?" Joshua said.

Barnabas read the letter aloud to him. Joshua opened his mouth in a sort of "ah" expression and said, "Finally. Oh, thank God. Someone who knows something of your predicament. We will not be alone in this."

Barnabas frowned. "I…I don't know what to think." Barnabas had never met another vampire, although his parents had explained the appearance of Mrs. Turnroad to him. He wasn't sure what he thought about that, either. He didn't blame Mrs. Turnroad for his death, not in the least—but he wasn't sure if he was prepared emotionally to meet her. And this other vampire—lady, he told himself—she had faced vampirism, and succeeded, which was intimidating in itself. In fact, the whole idea that there was a small community of vampires out there, like himself, each struggling through in their own way, relying on each other—Barnabas wasn't sure whether to be relieved or frightened. There were others like him. He was not alone.

Joshua seemed only to display the former emotion. Of course—the burden was no longer solely on him. "Father," Barnabas said, abashedly, "I—I regret…the trials I have put you through in the past few months."

Joshua seemed to grasp his meaning immediately, and hurriedly said, "Oh, no, no, Barnabas. It isn't that. I have just felt so…incompetent when it comes to dealing with your condition. I am glad to know there is someone out there who can support us, our family, as we face this."

"A week…" Barnabas murmured. He looked up at his father. "And you are willing to entertain them? You will have three vampires in your house, two of which you are not well-acquainted with."

"Oh, I know Melantha well enough," Joshua said, disturbingly cheerfully. "She's kind, albeit somewhat eccentric."

Barnabas didn't know what to say to this, so he pulled out the other letter. He drew in a sharp breath.

In the dark of the night, he could still recognize the handwriting. Handwriting he had used wait for every day, hoping that with every letter that the Collin's household received one would be marked with this hand. The calligraphic script ran across the letter in French.

_To the Collins household. Please place this upon Barnabas's grave._

Joshua cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I thought, considering whom it was from, and the fact that you are still capable of reading, I might give it to you to read instead."

Without another word, Barnabas ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter, his eyes roving over the page hungrily.

_My dearest Barnabas,_

_I labeled this letter as such so that you might find it when you rise. I hope against hope every day that you have received and will read this letter._

_Our last meeting left me in utter despair…for me, yes, and the life with you I might never have, but also for you. I love you too much to accept your desire for me to forget you. No wife would ever leave her husband in such a state without further pursuit of the truth, and, since I should have been joined in matrimony to you, that is what I have done. It took me quite some time, and even more time to actually believe it, but I know now what afflicts you, if what the myths say is true._

_I will not say the word, for fear this falls into the wrong hands, for I have no idea whether your family knows of the state in which you find yourself or not. That said, I would have you know that, despite what you may have come to believe, despite the impression I must have left you with, my devotion to you is not marred in the slightest because of your affliction._

_How I wish you had been truthful to me when we met in the forest! I would have been shocked, perhaps disbelieving at first, but I would have come to accept it. I would never have returned to Martinique. I would have stayed with you, no matter the consequences._

_I fear for your safety above all else right now, and I must know that you are still here, in this world; are you still in the forest? Have you been discovered? How these questions plague me every day. And every night, I wonder where you are in that moment, so far from me. How I wish I could be there at your side!_

_That is why, by the time you read this letter, I will hopefully be on my way to Massachusetts, my dear aunt willing. Do not fear—I will have discretion. I will visit Collinwood as if to view Jeremiah's grave. I_ will _see you, Barnabas, no matter the risk, no matter the cost._

_I love you, Barnabas. Even if there is no future for us, I will help you carry this burden. And I will not be dissuaded._

_All my love,_

_Josette_

Barnabas choked on a sob. Josette…even her simple words warmed his unnaturally chill body. Everything he had gone through in the last several months, everything he had lost, and, seeing this letter, he realized that the loss of her had been the worst of all. He would have been able to face his vile hunger, his constant pain, even his life in darkness, if only she were there at his side. He recollected her…and found, with a stab of sorrow, that he couldn't imagine her quite right. Her small habits, her little turns of phrase, everything that made up who she was…he hadn't realized it, but they were gently, almost imperceptibly fading. How long would it take for them to fade completely? When would Josette only be a name that he connected with great affection, without truly remembering how she was? The idea that that could ever happen was a deep stab to the heart.

But her letter had said she was coming. And the idea that he might see her again, might look upon that face that dwelt in the deepest areas of his heart so much that it had become a part of who he was, that idea was so unexpected that Barnabas didn't allow himself to believe it. He wouldn't allow himself the hope. After all, his life had seemed too good to be true only a year ago—he was marrying the love of his life, and his father approved. And it _had_ been too good to be true. Barnabas found that he could never be so optimistic again.

And, when Barnabas considered that she might actually arrive at Collinwood, he suddenly felt faint at the idea. Josette, come here? Show up on their doorstep? Ask to see him? What would she want? What would her expectations be? A rekindling of their relationship? The idea was absurd. Barnabas hardly considered himself a man anymore; when he didn't think of himself as a repulsive killer, he dwelt on how dependent he had come. He lived completely with his family, was only just beginning to help "earn his keep." His father fed him directly, and the entire family was overly-watchful and concerned for him.

Any hope of marriage was dashed with his turning, so much so that he had given the idea little thought over the past several months. He was a corpse in a coffin by day, a fanged animal by night. He felt constantly ill. He would never have children. The idea that he could possibly have a relationship of the nature he had had with Josette was so ludicrous it was humiliating. Barnabas felt like a monster or a child nowadays, but never a man.

But Josette had explicitly said she did not expect a romance. And that, in its own way, made Barnabas feel worse. She had given up on him.

All of these thoughts passed through his head in a few seconds. Joshua cleared his throat again. "If I may ask…?"

Barnabas handed the paper to him with a movement of reluctant resignation. Joshua scanned the paper—it took him much longer to read it, in the low light—then peered at Barnabas, seemingly trying to gauge his reaction. "I suppose we should prepare for quite a lot of company over the next month, shouldn't we?"

For a time, Barnabas made no reply. Then, haltingly, he said, "Father, I can't…Josette can't come here."

Joshua also took a while to respond. After some apparent rumination, he said, guardedly, feigning ignorance, "And why not? She cares for you, for obvious reasons. It is only fair to allow her to assure herself of your well-being."

Forcing his voice not to explode with emotion, Barnabas muttered, "What well-being?" When his father didn't reply, he sighed. "Any hope of our future happiness has been destroyed."

Quietly, Joshua said, "She admitted that. She isn't asking for your love."

"I know that!" Barnabas shouted, then forced himself to calm. "It doesn't matter, anyways. No matter what she expects, it will be humiliating. She was the love of my life. The idea that she would…would see me…like this…"

"Your appearance hasn't been altered that much," Joshua said, again with that infuriating tone of nonchalance.

"Any visit from so far away is prolonged, Father. You know she would be here for weeks. She would be privy to every facet of my life."

"And? She was going to be your wife. And those generally are privy to every facet of a man's life, whether he likes it or not," Joshua said with the gruffness of experience.

"Was going to be! When I was human! When I slept in a bed and dined with cutlery instead of fangs! I shudder to think what she would say to the coffin!"

"If she truly loved you as she proclaimed, she would accept it without hesitation," Joshua said quietly.

Barnabas couldn't hold it in anymore. "But she doesn't! She married another man!"

The silence that followed was eventually broken by Joshua's quite reprimand. "That is unfair, Barnabas. You know as well as I that was completely the result of Angelique's witchcraft. Blaming Josette for that is akin to blaming yourself for your dining habits."

Barnabas looked away and nodded, suddenly utterly ashamed. "I…I killed him. I can't believe I killed him. And I don't even have vampirism as an excuse for that."

Joshua sighed. "You were a hot-headed, idiotic young man. Honestly, this dueling fad has gotten out of hand, in my opinion. I mean, quite honestly—politicians are even taking part in such immaturity! Yes, Barnabas, I am very disappointed in you for that, and more than a bit angry. Your uncle is dead because of your pride. But…unfortunately…the outcome of their mockery of a marriage was expected, to say the least. It's what any man in your position would have done. I suppose I was just hoping that my son was more than just any man."

Barnabas wasn't sure what to say in response to his father's quiet, hesitant, and more than deserved castigation. "Father, I—"

Joshua shook his head. "So many tragedies have befallen our family as of late, tragedies that were beyond our control, that I no longer have the heart to hate you for something you actually could have prevented."

"But they were under my control," Barnabas said, quietly. "Angelique had every right to do this to me, what with the way I treated her."

"Ah," Joshua said, scornfully, "so now you think that having one's heart toyed with is on a par with being turned into a blood-drinking corpse and being forced to kill nightly? Your…alliance…with Angelique was finished quite before you began courting Miss Dupres, as I understand. In your situation, unfortunately, the fury of the woman scorned actually did arise straight out of hell. Take it as a lesson, I suppose."

"Be more respectful of a woman's heart?"

"I was going to say don't bed a witch, but that will do, too."

Barnabas glanced at his father. "To be honest, I'm growing rather uncomfortable with this conversation."

"Hm. As am I. Shall we?" he said, gesturing to the house.

Barnabas nodded, and together they walked back to Collinwood.


	12. Opportunity and Optimism

Five nights later, Joshua stood outside the room that Barnabas had taken as a study. He knocked quietly on the door. After a pause, Barnabas's voice came through the door. "Come in?" Joshua let himself in and paused at the scene before him.

Barnabas had only been in this room for a few days, and the place was already a complete disaster. Opened letters, reams of paper covered in figures, and large sketches of ship designs were laid across every flat surface, including the floor. Barnabas was bent over the main desk, scribbling something down while consulting a list. Sarah was in the corner of a room, playing an incredibly reedy tune on her little flute.

"How can you stand that?" Joshua said.

Barnabas looked up after a few moments, bleary-eyed. "Stand what?"

"The racket. And the state of this room."

Barnabas looked around, seeming to only just take in his surroundings. Then he said, as if his father had never spoken, "You haven't been keeping up on recording the finances at all, you realize that?"

Joshua responded gruffly. "There's been quite a few other matters taking my attention away from the business, as you well know."

Barnabas placed the quill back in the ink well and turned to his father. "What with the business we're making with Mr. Crossings, we should have enough financial resources to make repairs to both of those cargo ships without any loans."

Joshua nodded. Then he turned to Sarah. "Off to bed with you."

"But—"

"I won't hear a word of it."

"But I was—"

"I'm not your brother. Ready yourself for bed. Your mother will be there shortly."

With an overly dramatic look of dejection, Sarah dragged herself out of the room. Barnabas looked his father in the eyes, and asked, in a quiet tone, "How have you been feeling of late, Father?"

Joshua lifted his chin. "I will cope. How about you?" He hitched his chin in the direction of Barnabas's still heavily blistered arm.

Barnabas looked to the side. After a pause, he said, "I am beginning to fear the scars will be permanent."

Joshua had been beginning to fear that as well. He really didn't know what could be said on the matter, though, so he said, "Come down to the parlor. You've been in here long enough."

Barnabas nodded and lifted himself out of the chair, leaning over the desk for a moment to steady himself. Grabbing his cane, he made his way slowly towards Joshua. Joshua put a steadying hand on his back, and together they made their way downstairs.

They had been down there for only a few minutes, and Naomi had only just joined them, when a maid came in. "Sirs, Madam, we have guests. A Mrs. Ilmend, Mrs. Turnroad, and a Mr. Livings."

All three of the Collins's rose at once. Barnabas shot a worried look at both of his parents. "You'll be fine," Joshua reassured him roughly, then led the way into the foyer.

Just inside the doors stood three figures. Melantha, who was looking much better than the last time he had seen her—her face, although still pale, was flushed to a slightly healthier hue, and she had filled out slightly to the point where she did not look horrendously ill anymore. Her eyes, once tired and vacant, were now shining and full. Her long, dark hair fell to her sides in healthy waves instead of stringy patches. In fact, now that he saw her, he could see the woman she once must have been. She was rather beautiful, in a homely, mundane sort of way. Her face was kind, and she looked so far from the creature of the night Joshua knew her to be that he could not help but be taken aback. Upon the sight of them, she gave a shy smile and dipped her head just slightly in greeting. Joshua nodded back.

A man stood just to her left. He looked to be not of very good means, and had poorer clothing—not shabby, though. Well kept, stable, but obviously of a lower class. He was probably about Barnabas's age, with sandy hair, green eyes, and a broad jaw. And on his other side—the woman who could only be Mrs. Ilmend. Even she did not look as wealthy as the Collins's—although she was certainly well-to-do. She was of a fairly average height—but her posture made her look much taller than she actually was. Hazel eyes were set in a heart-shaped face framed by long, tightly curled chocolate ringlets. Upon their entrance, she lifted up her layers of pastel green skirts and dipped into a polite curtsy. "Master and Mistress Collins, Mr. Collins, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Mrs. Ilmend, but do please refer to me as Alexina."

* * *

Barnabas couldn't help it. He openly stared. He had known that other vampires existed—obviously, his condition supported the myths. But to actually see one…hitherto, the only vampire he had ever been able to base his new vision of the world of the supernatural off of was himself. Everything he knew about what a vampire was, what they looked like, how they thought—all of those came from him and him alone. Now, he found himself face to face with two other vampires…his powerful sense of smell dug through the layers of living sweat, blood and warmth to catch the faint smell of what could only be the vampires. Putrid, was what it was. The smallest hint of decay…as if the body had been caught within the first stages of such decay and then halted abruptly. Barnabas wrinkled his nose instinctually…did he smell like that? God. How could his family stand him being in the same room with him? Again, Barnabas was hit with an overwhelming disgust for his altered body.

Burying his distaste, his eyes were drawn, not to the mistress, but to the other vampiress. So this was Melantha. He took her in, from her timid, slightly jumpy expression to her partial cowering posture, as if she was ready at any moment to take flight. Her eyes flitted nervously back and forth from the patriarch and matriarch of the Collins household, but she was pointedly refusing to meet Barnabas's eyes, he noted.

So this was the creature that had bitten him. Had sunk her fangs into his jugular, had expelled the venom that she carried in the pockets behind her canines directly into his once healthy, completely human bloodstream. Had turned him into a nighttime animal, an animated corpse.

He found he took an instant liking to her.

For once, he did not feel this way because he saw the woman as an object of interest, of pursuance. Rather, he saw in her nervous expression and posture a kindred spirit, someone who also struggled against the urges and shameful memories he carried with him nightly. She understood what it was like. To wake up in a coffin, knowing you had been truly dead a moment ago. To stare at the nighttime sky, wishing beyond wish you could see it vibrant with the sun again. To stare at the corpse of one of the victims you had so brutally torn apart, to feel the stickiness of the blood on your face, and feel a self-loathing so deep you felt it was a part of who you were.

In her eyes was a deep sense of loss, and Barnabas knew, somehow, that that loss had been much greater than his.

This entire formation of a first impression happened within a few split seconds. Joshua's voice broke into Barnabas's thoughts. "The pleasure is ours, Alexina. Do join us in the parlor. You must be exhausted from the trip."

"Well, Mrs. Turnroad and I slept through most of it, what with the bulk of our journey being in the daytime. Although I'm sure Mr. Livings here would be quite happy with a rest."

"And a meal, I'm sure," Naomi said. "I'll inform the cook."

"Your hospitality is most appreciated," Alexina said, bowing her head.

Filing into the parlor, they all seated themselves around the roaring fire. "So," Joshua began, "you said in your letter you were the mistress of a council?"

"A vampire Family, yes," Alexina said. "An organization comprised of vampires of all walks of life. Such councils have existed for millennia. As it is not in the vampire community's general interest to have vampires running amuck, attacking others, we generally organize ourselves in an effort to keep such situations under control by giving vampires the means to live safely, without causing danger to others or to themselves. It must be understood that, although vampires are technically immortal, most vampires with no means to feed themselves other than to attack unwilling victims generally are destroyed within a few years. As I'm sure you have come to realize, those living with vampirism often have no proper place to live and no way to properly feed themselves, and are often forced to live dismal lifestyles on the edge of society. This is what we hope to avoid. It is our goal, or at least the goal of the Bangor Family, to allow local vampires to live as functioning members of society. We have a residence for those local vampires who have no other place to stay, and a means of feeding them."

"And what exactly would this means of feeding them be?"

"To understand that it must be realized that there is an entire world of the supernatural of which many go through their life unaware. Your family has been forced to accept the existence of witches and vampires. I will tell you now that many other creatures, most notably werewolves, exist as well, in addition to many other people and creatures you once thought were mythological. There are many uninfected people such as yourselves who have been forced to acknowledge this world or have been raised with the knowledge of it due to an illness in the family or the like. There is a whole circle of uninfected individuals who are willing to provide blood, sometimes charitably, but often for monetary compensation, just as any other food item. Mr. Livings here has, in addition to working as a coachman throughout Bangor, provided the local Family blood for some ten years for extra money. There are over a hundred others in the area who do this as well, and we generally assign a bit less than ten providers to a vampire and circulate them for health reasons."

"Ah," Joshua said. After a moment, he said, "And how does one become a part of this Family? What is all entailed?"

Alexina sighed. "Nothing, really. It is my duty as mistress to stay in contact with all local vampires, and to introduce newly infected vampires to our Family. From there, we generally assign you providers. That's how our Family operates. As you apparently do not require lodgings, this is all we can really do. Also, please do visit us periodically. As Mistress of Bangor, I personally encourage my Family members to acquaint themselves with each other, as I believe there is nothing so helpful in dealing with this disease as sharing experiences with others who have struggled through it. Again, I must apologize deeply that I failed in my duty to contact you immediately. I understand from Melantha that Mr. Collins went through rather a rough period in the months following his initial infection. Oh, and we can give you any information we have on the various particulars of your disease."

"Oh good," Joshua said. "Actually, there is something we are rather concerned about. You see, Barnabas was caught in the sun—"

"The scars?" Alexina interrupted. "Ah, yes, I noticed." Barnabas looked away, the little blood he had flushing to his face. Alexina apparently noticed this, and said, in a matronly tone, "Oh, never fear. It's quite common. Firstly, many newly infected vampires are not yet used to avoiding the sun, and accidents happen frequently. Secondly, I am grieved to say that there are many who purposely do this, especially within their first years. It is quite a natural reaction. And the vampire body is much more resilient to burns than the bodies of those who are uninfected. Rest and a good, healthy amount of fresh blood should remedy that. Hopefully they will clear up once you are being fed regularly and without fearing harm to your father."

Joshua's expression was one of disconcert at this statement. Alexina again seemed to notice and said, "Oh, dear, I apologize. I noticed the marks. Again a common occurrence with families who care for the victim. But it will be better for your entire family once he is being fed by various people."

Alexina paused for a while, then said, "Well, with all that being explained, I would like to get to know you all better. I always think of the families of the vampires under my charge as second families to me. Mr. Barnabas, I know this all must have been very hard for you. It's a frightening and horrible experience—I remember going through it myself. I did get a little of the story from Melantha, but I would like to hear it from you. I often find, although it may be difficult, speaking of your experiences to others can so often help."

Barnabas was taken aback. Now that she was talking to him, now that she had asked the question, he didn't know where to start. Finally, he said, haltingly. "Yes, it…it has been very hard." Alexina continued to watch him, with a smiling, patient expression. An expression that made Barnabas feel he really could tell this woman everything. So he began to talk.

His story was disorderly, confusing, he knew. He jumped around to the parts he felt like talking about in the moment, recalling various experiences when they happened to come to him, sometimes giving detailed, clinical accounts, sometimes ranting emotionally without any connection to an event. Some of the things he said left him cringing—there were some things he was only just now saying in front of his parents, and, although he was sure they had surmised, he still felt uncomfortable with the idea that they were hearing it, that they were forced to listen to how painful it was to look at the corpses of his victims, to hear how irresistible the taste of the blood was, to hear the detailed description of his first attack and how disgusted he had felt. Sometimes he felt as though he were on the verge of breaking down and crying, talking to this woman who he had only just met an hour before. And sometimes his heart would leap with joy when he would describe a particularly humiliating experience or urge or sensation and look up to see Alexina nodding sympathetically, her eyes shining not with pity, but with the understanding of one who had gone through it, who _knew_.

And she was by no means silent throughout. Often, when he touched on particularly shameful situations, Alexina would finish for him, would briefly describe one of her own experiences, would share the humiliation. It was obvious this was a role in which she often found herself.

After a few hours, when, Barnabas and Alexina had finally exhausted the bulk of topics to talk about, Alexina filled what would have been an awkward silence with a slap of her knees as she stood up. "Well, I daresay Mr. Livings is done with his meal now. Allow me to retrieve him."

She returned in the next five minutes with the young man at her side. "I have not yet really had the chance to make an introduction yet. This is Mr. Nathaniel Livings."

The family politely shook hands, each of them in turn. Alexina said, "Nathaniel?" turning to him expectantly.

Nathaniel nodded. "We'll be circulating your providers, but for tonight we would like you to understand what the process is. If you and your family agree, I offer to feed you tonight."

Barnabas balked at the straightforwardness of his offer. He vaguely noticed his mouth popping open in an expression of surprise. Fortunately, his father leaped to take over the situation. "That would be most appreciated. Might I ask, beforehand, though, how much is usually charged for a feeding?" Always the businessman.

Barnabas bowed his head and tried not to wallow in mortification. After a few moments, as Alexina and his father continued to go over the particulars, he heard someone sit down in the chair beside him. He glanced up to see Nathaniel.

"I …" Barnabas began, but had no idea what he wanted to say.

"It's quite alright. It seems odd, I know."

"You're the one who would…" Barnabas found he didn't want to finish that sentence. "And you're putting me at ease?"

Nathaniel sighed. "I've been doing this for quite a long time. My latest customer made a move to the New York Family recently, so I'm the next on the list. I'm honestly quite accustomed to it."

"How…how did you involve yourself in the first place?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "I think one of my great-uncles was a werewolf. Or maybe it was his wife. Anyways, I was raised knowing about the supernatural. I hit a rough patch several years ago, and I had a wife and two children to support. I remembered that this was an option. Giving a little blood is worth it, in my opinion."

Oh, God. "So, this is…?"

Nathaniel answered before he could finish his question. "Oh, yes, I've been asked if I enjoy selling myself many times. Don't think I haven't realized the connotations. Those are the people who don't understand vampirism. I suppose I see myself as…well, a farmer, a baker, and a bartender in one. You buy blood, and I use that money to buy bread. It's really no different."

Barnabas nodded.

Nathaniel continued, "If it helps, most providers, including myself, will bleed themselves and you can take it in a glass if that's what makes the customer more comfortable. But it usually wastes blood and is more of an inconvenience and a pain to the provider."

Again, Barnabas nodded. "Very well." He paused, then, desiring to dispel the awkwardness, he said, "So, you have a family?"

Nathaniel's eyes seemed to brighten at these words. "Yes, yes I do. My wife, Abigail, and my two daughters, Rebecca and Liza. They're of thirteen and eleven years of age."

"Please, send them my regards."

"Oh, they'll appreciate it. My last customer was such a dear to Liza, Liza was heart-broken when he made the move." Nathaniel glanced at the small clock on one of the end tables. "Alexina? May we get on with the feeding? I've been awake for a good twenty hours now."

Alexina gave him a dismissive gesture and continued to talk with the Collins couple. Nathaniel turned to Barnabas. "In the next room?"

They walked into one of the sitting rooms, and Nathaniel plopped down on one of the couches as if it was his home. Barnabas sat gingerly beside him. Nathaniel hastily unbuttoned one of his wrist cuffs and held his arm in front of Barnabas nonchalantly. Barnabas tried to act as naturally as he could. He utterly failed. Awkwardly taking Nathaniel by the wrist, he hesitantly placed his mouth up to the skin, and, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment, bit.

For once, he didn't feel the involuntary jerk that even his father continued to give. No tension. No fear. In fact, after a few moments, Nathaniel began to talk. "God, the trip here was exhausting. It's hard not to feel exhausted after having sleet beating up against your face for hours on end. I'm surprised none of the horse teams gave out. And then there's the journey back. Fortunately, I don't live too far from here, but Alexina and Melantha still need to go back to Bangor. Interesting, that Melantha. You should have seen her before we set off. She was a nervous wreck with the thought of meeting you. Felt right ashamed, she did."

Barnabas hastily swallowed one last gulp and clamped his arm to his sleeve, wiping slightly. "She did?" He was going to ask the obvious question, "why," but since the answer was also obvious, he simply remained awkwardly silent. "She shouldn't," he said, instead.

Nathaniel nodded. After a moment, he said, slowly, "You might consider telling her that."

Barnabas nodded in turn. Slowly, he stood up. Nathaniel followed suit. Barnabas offered a hand hesitantly. "Thank you."

Nathaniel snorted. "No, thank you. Just with tonight I'll be able to buy both my daughters a new pair of shoes." With that, he walked off back into the parlor. Barnabas suppressed an intrigued smile at the man's bluntness, and followed him.

* * *

Melantha leaned over one of the numerous balconies of the Collins' estate, staring down at the green below. It had been far too stifling inside.

She didn't know why she was here. She wasn't needed. If anything, she was a hindrance, a reminder to Barnabas of everything he had lost, and the hand (or fangs) by which he had lost it.

She didn't want to be here.

As if hell could hear her inmost desires, it sent the person she least wanted to see at the moment. Even though she didn't hear the naturally soft, vampiric footsteps, she smelled him. Smelled the lingering, foul decay, covered by the fresh scent of blood recently drunk, and, even deeper down, the comforting smell of human sweat and grime mixed with heavy perfume. The smell of a vampire that lived among humans. With humans.

"Mrs. Turnroad?" the voice came quietly.

Melantha forced herself to turn, to look him in the eyes. Deep brown eyes. She didn't remember them. How could she forget the eyes of a man whose life she had destroyed? She'd tasted his blood, coating her tongue, running down her throat—why didn't she remember it?

Barnabas came to stand next to her, leaning over the balcony as well. He, however, stared up at the sky. "Are you used to it yet?" he asked. "The constant night?"

God. Now he was going to talk about all the things he had lost. She knew he was doing it because it was their only shared experience—the experience of being a vampire. But hearing anything more about how she had destroyed his life, forced him to live the same one as her, was not going to make her feel more comfortable. Her reply was terser than she had meant it to be. "No."

As she had expected, Barnabas seemed taken aback. Then, after a moment, he sighed. "I'm sorry you were dragged into all this. I'm sorry my…wife…used you, took advantage of your vampirism. I can only imagine. I'm sorry you were involved in someone else's domestic problems."

"You're…sorry?" Melantha couldn't help it. She snorted.

"No, I don't speak in jest or bitterness, Mrs. Turnroad. I blame nothing on you. You were just an unfortunate tool in my wife's wrathful vengeance. And some of that vengeance was certainly deserved. As the one who carries most of the blame is far from this place by now, I will apologize for your involvement, as I, too, bear some guilt." He paused. "Besides, it would be in my benefit to acquaint myself with someone who is also struggling. I am very glad to have met the Mistress, but she is…too experienced with vampirism. I…I do apologize, but I feel I can relate to you more easily. And, if it weren't for you, I would still be killing my father slowly…or perhaps still on the streets of Boston. So, I owe you my gratitude. Please, do not refuse it in shame, for it is entirely deserved."

Melantha didn't know what to say, or feel. And Barnabas's next words heightened that feeling more than she could have ever thought possible.

"I also have heard that your situation…well, I was not married with children when I…died. I…I am so sorry for your loss."

Melantha stared at him for a moment, then pressed a hand to her mouth and nose, in an irrational attempt to stop the tears. "Your…your parents told you?"

"Yes. Oh, dear, I didn't mean to…I'm so sorry, that was inconsiderate of me. I'm sure you didn't want to be reminded."

Melantha gave a sound that was half laugh, half sob. "Reminded? I never have to be reminded of that. It is always at the front of my mind, so you didn't…God." She wiped away a blood-stained tear. Breathing shakily, she said, "After I was attacked, well, I was near a doctor, and he retrieved me and took me back to my home, watched over me while the fever took me. My husband never left my side, that I remember. When I rose for the first time, I was…I was underground. Really, their rapidity in burying my corpse was astonishing. I'm sure the presence of my son prompted it…they didn't want the diseases that come with dead bodies to run amuck in a house with a child. How terrifying those first few hours were, breaking out of the ground. I remember my face and fingers bleeding heavily just from that, my nails in gritty tatters…Of course, I made my way back to my husband immediately, to my home. He was overjoyed to see me alive. I held my son so close to my side that night, and he didn't let me go. But, of course, it became painfully obvious by the end of the night that all was not well. I…left, and found my first meal. Thank God it was not my husband or child. But I returned, and I…I threw myself at my husband's feet…I told him all. All we knew was that I was some form of demon. For the first few nights, he tried, he tried to hold me together, tried to convince me, convince me my life could go on as usual, but it became clear to both of us that…that that was not to be the case. Finally he was fed up with the killings, and scared, rightfully so, for the life of our little boy. He threw me out of the house. I must not have been in my right mind, because I begged him, pleaded on my knees for him to let me stay. He threw me bodily from the house, there was a struggle, I wanted my son, and I overpowered him. He shot at me. Of course, nothing happened, but it was enough. I ran. The last sight I had of my husband and child was of him with a rifle, protecting my son…from me." Melantha fell silent. She wasn't sure what had prompted her to say all that, and now she could feel her ears growing pink with the small reserves of blood she had.

She felt a gentle hand on her back, in between her shoulder blades. "I'm sorry," Barnabas muttered, then let his hand drop.

Melantha furrowed a brow, confused at the emotion she could feel stirring inside of her. A sort of safety in the presence of and affection for the fellow vampire who offered her such comforting words, despite the fact that he had so recently been infected, and by her, no less. Over the past few months, she had found a sort of mother in Alexina. Now—did she dare hope?—she felt as if, perhaps, she had found a sort of brother in the young man she had quite unintentionally turned.


	13. Veracity and Vulnerability

Josette stepped out of the carriage on shaky legs and into the chill nighttime air of the Massachusetts winter. She lifted her face up to the towering Collinwood. Before, it had seemed glamorous, welcoming her with the promise of a blissfully happy married life. Now it was ominous…so much black magic and destruction had taken place in there, and death. The death of her husband had taken place on these grounds, as well as the death of the man who should have been her husband.

The Countess Dupres stepped out beside her, also looking up at the towering walls. Her face turned in a sneer. "Well? You wanted to come back to this depressing drip of a town, what are you waiting for?"

Josette sighed and, picking her skirts up, walked up the few steps to the large double doors.

To her utter shock, Joshua opened the door in lieu of a servant. He looked mildly shocked for a moment, then said, incredibly loudly,"Countess Dupres and Mrs. Collins, please, do come in!" He opened the door widely.

Josette flinched at her married name, but understood. They were keeping up the pretense that so besotted was she with her late husband that she had come all the way here to visit his grave, so of course he would call her by that name.

They were taken into the parlor, where Naomi immediately enveloped her in one of the most maternal embraces Josette had ever experienced. Sarah ran up to her and threw herself in her arms. "Miss Josette, we all couldn't wait to see you!" Josette was afraid for a moment the little girl would spill Barnabas's existence in front of her aunt, but Sarah merely stared up at her with wide, knowing eyes. She had been forewarned sternly, Josette was sure.

And then the small talk commenced, for about an hour. Joshua asked banal things about their health and the weather in Martinique and the voyage, Naomi popped in occasionally with various tender comments and sympathetic gestures at all the right times, and the Countess answered every sentence of Joshua's with a snide remark. Josette simply sat there, her stomach clenching with anxious anticipation.

Eventually, Joshua said, "Well, I'll expect you'll want to be shown to your rooms? I assumed…I assumed you might want to stay in the Old House, for privacy's sake. I understand this is not a social call."

The Countess somehow managed to look down her nose at the taller man, and said, primly, "Yes, that would be most appreciated."

"Aunt, may I go straight to the cemetery? I've been waiting ever so long," Josette jumped to say.

The Countess didn't even bat an eyelash. "Very well. The Collinses will have your luggage brought to your room. I'll see you later tonight."

When the double doors closed shut behind her, a collective breath seemed to be let out in the room.

"We can't keep this masquerade up forever. It was a good thing you decided to send that second letter, or else I would have had to pretend I had no idea you were coming," Joshua said.

"Masque—oh," Josette said, meekly. "So you do know?"

"Yes. I found him not a day after you departed."

"And-?

"There was certainly a rough patch, but he's safe now. And he has aide. He's—well, on second thought—Barnabas! The Countess is gone!" he yelled, still in French. _So that Barnabas would know that I wasn't,_ Josette realized.

And then she heard heavy, shuffling footsteps. She froze. So long she had waited for this moment, ever since she had decided she would take the voyage to Collinsport. But now, here she was, and she was scared. Not of him, no. Not of what he had become—although she realized that she should be—but of meeting him. Of meeting him once more after all they had been through. Her unwitting betrayal, the duel, his death, her stumbling upon him in the forest…that image still played through her mind, and it horrified her.

And then he appeared, around the corner of the doorway into the sitting room. He leaned heavily on a cane, with a slightly bowed head. His dark eyes peered up just enough to meet Josette's with a timidity that she had never seen in him before. "Josette," he said quietly.

"Barnabas!" she said, rushing to him, stopping just short of him. He still looked incredibly ill, although nowhere near as ill has he had appeared in the forest. And he was still thin, pale, haggard-looking. The bags were still there, but at least now they were an angry violet instead of a muddy brown. But tackling him still didn't seem like a good idea.

_He's supposed as strong as ten men now,_ Josette thought. _Just how does someone pull off looking that disheveled and sick while having that kind of raw power?_ She'd never understand the supernatural. "How…how…how are you doing?" That was perhaps the most ridiculous question Josette had ever asked in her life, she realized. Which, she admitted to herself, was saying a lot.

Barnabas slowly, gently took her hands in his own clammy, cold ones, after laying his cane against the doorframe. "Much better than when you last saw me," he said with a wry smile. His pathetic attempt at humor brought a bubbly laugh to Josette's lips, so nervous was she. But she noticed he didn't kiss her hands.

"We'll be up in our rooms," Naomi said, nudging Joshua quite blatantly. Joshua, for once, didn't protest at the impropriety of leaving a bachelor and now-single lady alone together. Josette supposed the Collins family couldn't undergo any more humiliation than it had already.

Barnabas walked with Josette over to a couch. After they had settled, Barnabas started off, hesitantly, "Josette, I…I…I'm so sorry. For everything that's happened to you. And I…don't deserve the kindness you have shown me, the acceptance."

"Are you referring to your…are you referring to what's happened between you and Angelique?"

Barnabas hung his head. "That, and for being a…"

"Bloodthirsty creature of the night?" she supplied helpfully.

Barnabas didn't say anything.

Josette sighed. "I…God, I'm sorry, I'm just…still trying to wrap my mind around it." After a moment, she leaned her head up against Barnabas's chest. She tried listening for a heartbeat, knowing she wouldn't hear anything. But then, she realized, who hears a heartbeat through about three layers of clothing anyway? Moving back up into a sitting position, she said, "We weren't courting when you were with Angelique. At least she wasn't your own servant. God, I hate when men have…relations with their own maids. So base. But, no…please, may we just not talk about your relations with Angelique, or mine with your uncle? Yours was a mistake, and mine was completely unwitting."

"Fine, then let's talk about the fact that I am a bloodthirsty monster," Barnabas said, his tone biting. Josette startled—the change in mood was so abrupt.

But then, so was the pacification. "I—I didn't mean to sound so harsh, Josette, it's…here you are, and here I am, and I am still pining over you like a basset hound, because there is no possible way we could ever…"

"Because we are both married? Or because you're dead?"

Barnabas peered at her, looking slightly confused.

Josette sighed. "Yes, Barnabas. I'm more forward than you might have remembered me. Betraying your fiancée and humiliating yourself, watching said fiancée die, and stumbling across your dead fiancée drinking blood right out of a carcass gives one a rather cynical outlook on life. I hope you can handle my change in demeanor."

Barnabas paused, then said, "You were always a fiery spirit, Josette. You just hid it well. I thought I liked the secret tantalization of the passion just under the surface, but you're right…I like it bare for all to see much better."

Josette was slightly taken aback, then smiled warmly. "Oh, well, that's a relief."

Barnabas sighed. "But, nevertheless…Josette, dearest, I am ecstatic to see you, I am filled at once with joy and regret of what we might have had, but why…why did _you_ choose to come here?"

Josette faltered. "I…I suppose…well, I wasn't lying when I wanted to make sure you were alright. For God's sake, Barnabas, the last time I saw you, you were living in the forest and had blood dripping down your face! And you were probably living in the mausoleum! I couldn't just leave you like that…you aren't still in the crypt, are you?"

"Oh, dear God, no. No, my father had my coffin moved to a guest room in this mansion."

"Ah. But," Josette forced herself not to show to much disgust while saying this, "you still sleep in a coffin?"

Barnabas looked at her worriedly, then looked down at his hands, folded in his lap. The words he said next seemed to be dragged out of his mouth. "Not sleep, per se…you see, the black magic, or whatever it is, that keeps me animated during the night is completely absent in the daytime. During the day, I am…just a corpse."

If Josette was truthful with herself, she'd expected something like that. But it disturbed her nonetheless. Gingerly taking one of his unnaturally stiff hands in hers, she said, "That must be…rather a change for you."

"Yes, well, so is drinking human blood on a regular basis."

"Ah, yes, how are you handling…that?"

And so Barnabas explained everything. How he had victimized many in Collinsport at first, how he had been cast out, wandered all the way to Boston, killed more people on his way, was found by his father, went back to Collinsport, drank his father almost to death. How the Bangor Family had saved him and his family. Again, Josette knew he had had to kill frequently. It still disgusted her and rocked her to her core.

Barnabas. Her Barnabas. While he was by no means a flawless or stunningly handsome man in life, he had been of an overall good character, with a very attractive loyalty to family, with rather charming features to boot. Now, he had killed—multiple times and in a barbaric manner. Lips that she had kissed had been smeared with the sticky blood of victims. And, to accentuate the horror of his nature, he now looked like an animated corpse—because he was. His odd gait, although not incredibly noticeable to those not looking, was not that of a rheumatic—it was that of a body not made to move that was moving nonetheless. And the hand, the hand she held between hers, it crackled slightly under her touch, with the promise of decay. Whatever myths displayed vampires as incredibly seductive creatures that used their beauty to capture their prey were wrong, unless they were affected by some magical element while under the clutch of severe bloodlust. Josette supposed it was simply another oxymoron of the supernatural world, because there was nothing at all attractive about the changes she had thus far observed in her once-fiancée's body. She had once been bound for marriage with this man, she had been one day away from sharing the most intimate of physical relations with this man, and now—now just the simple feeling of his hand under hers made her feel nauseous. She realized that, by even considering pursuing relations with this man once again, she would now be bordering on necrophilia. She had expected the change, but…

…but she loved him. She loved him as a human, and she would love him as a vampire. And that was that.

When he had finished, Josette said, quietly, "And…have you fed tonight?"

"Yes. The provider had just left when you arrived."

"So…you can control yourself, now, easily?"

"Yes, yes…I think so. The temptation is not so great when one is fed regularly."

"Good," Josette replied, and leaned her head once more on his chest, encouraging him into a position leaning against the arm of the couch. She felt him stiffly change position beneath her, to accommodate. She smiled, her eyes closed, as he awkwardly brought an arm around to encircle hers, drawing him closer. Again, the cold, unnatural movement. A slight popping of various joints as he settled himself slowly against her. Josette pursed her lips, willing away the revulsion. She loved him.

She fell asleep, the low light of the surrounding candles burning through her eyelids in a comfortable glow.

Propriety be damned.

* * *

Barnabas had lain under Josette, stroking her soft, chestnut hair for about an hour when he heard and smelled his father coming slowly down the steps and into the parlor. Barnabas looked up at him gravely. Joshua returned his gaze placidly, unflinchingly, completely void of emotion. After a few moments, he said, "She seems to have reacquainted herself to you quickly."

Barnabas didn't have an immediate answer. "Her…her aunt will be expecting her. And the sun will rise eventually. How shall I wake her?"

Joshua didn't answer at first, instead moving over to the bay window and drawing the shades. "I'll tell her aunt she simply fell asleep during conversation and we simply didn't have the heart to wake her. There's nothing inappropriate about staying in a house where there are no unmarried men."

"But…the dawn…you know what hap—"

"The whole truth, Barnabas. Are you ready to give her that?"

"She already knows that I am a corpse during the day. I could have lied, but I didn't, because I know…I know she must be under no illusion. But really, must she see-?"

"She still harbors hope, and so do you." Barnabas opened his mouth to protest, but Joshua raised a hand. "You may not even realize it. Of course you do. And I do not protest. We can work around the townsfolk and her family. I have given the matter some thought, and it is possible. It would take a certain amount of half-truths and bald-faced lies, but we could do it. But there can be no lies between you two, not even half-truths. If we are to bend all the rules for the happiness of you two, it must be clear that Josette knows what she is agreeing to. She has to know what it means to marry a corpse. I will not have her, in her naiveté, throwing her life away for you out of romantic folly. She needs to see with her own eyes all of the less-than-pleasant facets of vampirism—she must not romanticize it in the least—"

"I haven't been trying to—use her! Or whatever you think I'm doing!" Barnabas spat in a hoarse whisper. "I know we have no future together, I'm not a fool!"

"What I am trying to say, Barnabas, is that you might have a future together! _If_ , and only if, she knows exactly what it means to be married to a vampire!" Joshua returned in the same sharp tones. "It is not a pretty thing to live with, Barnabas! And if she loves you enough to overlook the fact that you drink human blood and sleep in a coffin, then yes, there is no better woman for you!"

In the silence afterward, Josette stirred. Both men turned to look at her, then looked back at each other.

Joshua began to speak again. "She fell in love with you before you were infected. See if that love can withstand the infection. If it can, then I wish you both happiness. Goodnight." With that, he returned the way he had come.

Barnabas looked down at the miraculously still sleeping form of Josette. _I love you, Josette. I'm sorry._

He stayed like that until the first rays of sun began to filter around the heavy curtains. Barnabas didn't fight it, as he felt the energy seep out of his body, sucked out mercilessly by the harsh sunlight. His head dropped to his chest, almost on top of Josette's; his eyes closed; the hand that had been stroking Josette's hair dropped down to curl limply in between her body and his. And still Josette did not wake.

* * *

The room was dark when Josette came to consciousness. Good, still night. More time with Barnabas, and no cranky aunt.

It took her a moment to realize that it really wasn't all that dark—it was a gray, cloudy dark rather than a nighttime dark. No—it was a curtained dark. The sun was strong outside, but the shades were drawn. God, she had been here all night. What would her aunt say?

Before Josette had time to act on this fear and propel herself from a lying position, she had another thought. Barnabas! She could feel him under her. But the shades were drawn. So maybe he was unhurt by the sun. Yes, of course. He wouldn't have been so stupid as to—

-but, either way, that meant that he was now…

And then she noticed all the feelings she hadn't in her first seconds of wakefulness. The stiffness of the body beneath her, the lack of movement, the chill, slacken skin. She sat bolt upright and twisted around.

And yes, there was Barnabas. Or rather, his corpse. Completely immobile, lifeless. One arm curled limply up to his side. Eyes closed, thank God.

_Don't. Move,_ she told herself. This was it. This was her fiancée. She had prepared herself. With a slightly shaking hand, she reached out to stroke a cheek. The skin was cold, and not with the cool of metal or ice, but the disconcerting, revolting absence of heat with day-old cooked meals. There was supposed to be heat, but there wasn't. Now all that remained was the rubbery feel of the skin itself.

After a few moments, she pulled the hand away. Vampirism wasn't just frightening.

It was disgusting.

But she loved Barnabas. And he loved her. He had been crippled, but it would be cruel and shallow to not even attempt to look past that.

After a moment of deliberation, she dipped her head down and pecked him on the forehead, then straightened herself and stood up.

At that moment, Joshua traipsed down the stairs. Upon seeing each other, Joshua and Josette locked gazes.

"How was your night?" Joshua said after a few moments.

Josette nodded. "Much better than the last few. Ugh, you wouldn't believe the inn we holed ourselves up in in New York." She paused, then said, "Thank you for having the curtains closed. Should Barnabas be taken up to his coffin? I'm sure it would be more comfortable than here."

Joshua nodded, still gazing at her steadily. "He didn't want to have to disturb you. But, yes, that would be a good idea. Shall I have some breakfast made for you?"

"Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you."

Josette watched as Joshua walked through to the stairs that would lead to the kitchens. It had been some kind of test, she knew. And she thought she even understood why.

She also knew she had passed.

* * *

That evening, Josette ambled around Collinwood. She wasn't sure why. Maybe to reassure herself that it hadn't changed too much since her fiancée had been infected. For some strange reason, this made her subconsciously feel that it wouldn't affect her too much, and a possible renewal of their relations.

And it hadn't really changed that much. The curtains were drawn most of the time now. Most of the mirrors in the public areas had been taken down, as well as the few crosses that had hung here and there as decoration. She had walked into Barnabas's study, which was strewn with papers, as expected. It brought a smile to her lips. That, and the fact that Sarah's little flute was lying amidst the debris. No, vampirism hadn't changed Barnabas or his family that much, with the exception of Joshua, of course. The change in him was enormous and quite shocking to Josette. Although she understood why it had taken place, and was certainly happy for the change, she was still taken aback.

_Of course, you've changed, too._

She hadn't lied to Barnabas. She'd definitely become more world-weary and less demure after her experience with the Collins family. She had come to Collinsport a blushing, naïve girl looking forward to a life of happiness. She had never thought of herself as a silly girl—she had been well-read, a deep thinker, but lacking somewhat in the common sense department. She had easily been able to blend into what society expected of her because of this—a woman might be intelligent, but as long as she remained absent-minded and adorably whimsical, she would make a good upper class lady. Never mind that there were many men who had similar traits and were seen as learned. Barnabas had treated her somewhat of an equal; he was protective without being condescending. He had seen the intelligence and the absent-minded naiveté, and had fallen in love with them both, Josette knew. Along with her looks, of course. But he did not see her as an object.

But now, she was rather less naïve, she thought. Marriage and love took a lot of work. Yes, that might have been made obvious in her situation, but it was true of every marriage. She thought she had an idea what she was getting into. She had no ridiculous ideas involving the dark, beautiful creature of the night sweeping her off her feet. She had no illusions that a vampiric attack was a pleasurable experience, a romantic experience. There was nothing romantic about the prospect of marrying a bloodthirsty dead man. Nothing, except for the fact that she had loved him before all of that, all of it, she had fallen in love with him before he was infected, and she still loved him, loved him past the coffin and the blood and the fatal aversion to sunlight.

But that meant she would have to see all of these things herself before she truly decided she could handle marrying Barnabas. That was also something she knew. And it was something Barnabas and his father knew, she was sure. It would explain their recent actions.

Well, she would simply have to beat them to the test.

She set out with the intention of finding Joshua, but ran into him instead on the second floor.

"Good evening, Mr. Collins," she said warmly.

Joshua startled. "Why, good evening, Miss Josette."

Josette smothered a smile at his address of her in private. "Might I ask what you're about?"

Joshua paused for a moment, then said, "Someone is usually in Barnabas's room when he arises. Sometimes he needs a hand from the coffin, and it's always rather startling for him to come back to life. He is becoming more accustomed to it now, though."

"Well, it has only been half a year. I should think it would take me quite a while to become accustomed to such an experience. Might I wait for him instead? I know you are a very busy man, and I should like to spend all the time with Barnabas that I can whilst I am here."

Joshua seemed slightly taken aback by this. Josette stifled a smile. _Didn't see that one coming, did you? Well, two can play at this game._ After a moment, Joshua recomposed himself, and said, "Of course. You would certainly be the first face Barnabas wishes to see. His room is right around that corner." After gesturing vaguely, he turned to leave.

Josette said, quickly, "Do you usually open the lid before he rises, or does he open it himself?"

Again, Joshua looked mildly shocked. "Er…he—he opens it himself. It's…rather a shock for him to be revitalized with it already open."

"Thank you."

"Of…of course."

Well. She had managed to completely befuddle _the_ Joshua Collins. A notch in her belt.

The room was pitch-black, and Josette fumbled around for a good while before lighting the two candelabras. When she did, the low light cast freakish shadows around the room. After her eyes had adjusted, she spotted the coffin.

It really wasn't frightening. That wasn't what took Josette aback. No, it was the fact that the only other time she had seen that coffin was when it had been carried down the stairs of the Old House by two pallbearers, when she had launched herself at it in despair for all that had gone wrong within the preceding months, and most of all for the death of Barnabas. And now he was lying in there, and would crawl out of it in a matter of minutes.

Not crawl, she chided herself. No use making it sound so unnatural and demonic. Besides, it'll probably be something more along the lines of a stumble, anyway.

She had just sat on the edge of the bed that was, for all intents and purposes, decorative, when she saw something flash out of the corner of her eye. She brought the candelabra closer and, to her shock, saw a rather large, silver cross lying on the end table.

_Why in God's name-?_

And then it struck Josette. He hadn't fed since early last evening. He'd be hungry when he awoke. He'd be more susceptible to temptation. Not that it was likely he'd bite her, but it was just a precaution the Collins family kept in the room. Josette picked up the cross and tucked it into her skirts.

She had been sitting in silence for a moment when she heard a small noise, something in between a gasp and a groan, come from inside the coffin. She sat bolt upright.

There was a creaking, and the coffin lid opened just a tad, enough for a few long fingers to wrap themselves around the edge. Then it was opened.

Josette got up and walked a few steps towards the coffin. "Barnabas?" she said, forcing the quaver to stay out of her voice.

There was silence. Then, "Josette?" Then there was a shuffling, and Barnabas lifted himself upright into her view.

"Can I help?" Josette said, stepping quickly towards him.

"Oh, no, no," Barnabas said hurriedly. Josette was right. It was more of a stumble, she thought, as he clambered into a stooped standing position and stepped awkwardly over the side of the coffin. "Dear God," he muttered, finally straightening himself. "Well…this is rather…humiliating, I suppose is the word."

"Ah, so you have changed," Josette said, teasingly. "The Barnabas I knew didn't seem to know the meaning of humility."

Barnabas's head snapped up to make eye contact with her. He looked a little surprised. Then his face broke into a very toothy smile. "Now, I wasn't all that bad, was I?"

"I could live with it," Josette returned with a smile in her voice. "By the way, your smile is quite dazzling nowadays."

Barnabas's face immediately dropped into a mortified, devastated expression. "Oh…oh, Josette, oh. I—I'm so sorry. I tend…tend to forget…"

"No, no, Barnabas, please, it's fine!" Josette rushed to say. "No, I was teasing. I haven't seen you grin so broadly since I arrived. I'm glad to see it, really."

"Well. I…I don't think I've smiled quite that broadly since I was turned. You really have a way of brightening everything, Josette." He gave her a shy smile, this time with lips closed.

Despite herself, Josette blushed. "Goodness, why are we acting like schoolchildren? We would be married by now if…"

Barnabas gave a quiet grunt in reply to her unfinished sentence.

Trying to dispel the awkwardness, Josette said, "Your…your French is impeccably good for having been dead just a few minutes ago."

A corner of Barnabas's mouth twitched in stifled humor. "Well, I try." After a few moments, he said, "I—I really should feed now."

"Ah. The smell is bothering you?"

"Quite the opposite. And that is the problem."

"Well then I shall not tempt you any longer with this exquisite spread. Unfortunately, I do not think your provider has yet arrived."

"Ah. Er…my father continues to feed me on Saturday evenings. The feedings are rather costly."

"And I'm sure it serves as a perfectly wonderful father-son bonding experience."

Barnabas snorted and turned to the door. Josette, smiling to herself, followed suit.

* * *

Ben struggled to balance a lamp and pewter of cattle blood as he walked gingerly out of the cellar. They had an entire barrel of cattle blood down there that Ben had picked up from the town butcher, with whom the Collins family now had an ongoing, secretive deal. Although waiting on the family was no longer technically his job, Ben really had no duties yet, so he did everything to make dealing with vampirism easier for Barnabas, even if it meant grabbing some extra animal blood from the cellar to tide him over until after the family supper. That, and there were very few servants in the household anymore. Most of them had left when Barnabas had reappeared; the strange happenings at Collinwood had been bad enough, but, despite the enormous effort exerted beforehand to make it seem Barnabas had gone off to England, most of the servants had figured out he was dead. And when he had come back, so soon, they suspicions had been confirmed, and a new one added: he was undead. No matter how much Joshua paid them, the majority of them had left. Fortunately, the majority of them had also left town, so rumors had not abounded too greatly. But it meant that there was no one taking care of the house anymore. No one except Ben, by choice.

When he got to the top step, he tripped magnificently, not finding his footing in the dark. The pewter went flying, and sticky, thick liquid splashed all over Ben's trouser leg and shoes. Ben clutched desperately at the lamp. Better to break something than to set the entire house on fire. So he collapsed in a massive huddle at the top of the stairs, his face smacking into the ridge of the topmost step. He felt something crunch, hard, and felt like his teeth were nearly knocked out of his head.

Then there were footsteps. Thank God the cellar stairs weren't that far from the parlor—that, and Ben was fairly sure that his fall could have been heard from the Eagle. A pair of strong, beefy hands heaved him up, and there was a gasp. And then Naomi's worried voice, "Oh, dear—he's bleeding heavily, Joshua! He must have broken his nose!"

"'Bect that's so, ma'am," Ben said through the broken nose, pain, and blood, "bud iz alride, iz nod as bad as id loogs, ya always bleed more heabily in da face den anywhere else, jus' don' led Barnabas—"

But it was too late. There was the chattering of two lively, familiar voices, and then one of them stopped abruptly. The other one kept going, until it slowly died away, too. "Oh…Barnabas…" Josette's voice came from somewhere across the room.

By this time, the pain had cleared up enough for Ben to actually think in a fashion approaching straight. He looked up to see Barnabas looking pointedly away, covering a nose with his hand, breathing heavily, yet shallowly.

"Outside, Barnabas. Now," Joshua commanded. Barnabas, it seemed, didn't have to be told twice. He walked briskly across the room, still purposefully turned away from the bloody commotion. A few moments later, they heard the sound of the front doors closing.

"I…I don't understand," Josette said, as Ben was brought to a chair and a kerchief pressed over his face. "I thought…Barnabas is fed routinely now, every other day, correct? And he still has such temptation?"

"Even with the daily animal blood and the human blood every other day, he still doesn't receive nearly as much sustenance as the rest of us do daily. He can handle it when the blood is bottled up in our bodies, but when someone is bleeding freely and fairly heavily…the way he's being fed now, he has the diet of a very poor man, rather than a starving, homeless one. And the fact that Ben is bleeding of his own accord makes it even harder—from what Barnabas has told me, and from what I can glean from those vampires from the Family I told you about earlier today, it was all he could do not to lap it up from the floor like a cur. After all, the blood would be put to waste, anyways. Really, it was only a question of dignity. I think mortification at the idea of doing that in front of you took the upper hand over a few tablespoons of blood."

Naomi reappeared—Ben hadn't even noticed her leave—with a bucket of water and some bandages. "The best we can do for now," she said in a matronly tone, beginning to wipe off the blood surrounding Ben's nose. He drew in a sharp breath with every movement.

By the time Ben's face was cleaned and bandaged, and he could see somewhat clearly around the room, Josette was gone.

* * *

Barnabas leaned against the wall adjacent to the front doors, breathing shakily. He really didn't need to breathe, he realized. He could hold his breath. But he had to, even though it caused the smells to assault his nose—the scent of freshly fallen snow, of evergreens, and the hint of steaming, fresh blood. He had to, in order to ground himself, to keep himself rooted in reality, to not be taken away by the smell. Not that he would have attacked Ben, no. He could count on a meal of blood later on tonight, from his father. But the blood that had fallen all over his clothes, on the floor—what a shameful waste. His stomach growled. He would never be rid of the hunger—not because of some demonic curse that caused its ever-presence, but simply because he never got enough in the first place. Here he was, born to a wealthy family, wearing expensive clothing, sleeping behind expensive walls in an expensive coffin, and yet he had not enough to fill his belly every evening. It was a joke, the life he lived. At least on the streets he had lived like the animal he truly was.

If only the bleeding had not been so profuse, he told himself. If only it had been a little cut, the scent would hardly have carried enough for Barnabas to even pick it up, much less become a drooling idiot over it. But it was as if a whole basket of freshly baked bread had been spilt on the floor, and he, not having more than a meager slice every day, had to fight against himself not to drop to his knees to pick them up, what with the mouth-watering scent filling the air. He was sure vampires who actually killed and drank their fill every day didn't have to fight such desperation.

_Yes,_ he thought, _because they give in to the desperation in the first place. Which is exactly what you_ don't _want to do. And you did once. And catching every meal is a lot harder than it looks. At least your prey is willing and stands still._

"The hunger is something you'll always have to put up with, Barnabas."

Barnabas spun around to see Josette standing just outside the doorway beside him. Her chestnut hair, falling in perfect ringlets around her face, glowed golden in the low light of the candles coming from inside. She quietly shut the door behind her, and the illusion faded. Barnabas sighed. "You always were able to read my thoughts as if I were but an open book, Josette."

"Well, I'm sorry, dear, but when you make a hasty exit covering your nose and mouth, breathing heavily, after we've just come across what looks like the scene of a particularly gruesome crime in the family parlor, adding to that the fact that I know that you're a vampire, I would say, yes, I have a fair idea what's going through your mind."

Barnabas shifted uncomfortably, then muttered in a growl, "It's ridiculous. We've done everything. How could I possible prevent such base urges more than I already have? My family is making so many sacrifices for me already. Can I not hide my nature for more than a few precious moments? It's not…it's not…"

"…fair?" Josette finished. Barnabas noted that she was tensed, with a hand on her skirts.

"Not fair?" Barnabas scoffed. "Oh, it was fair." His voice rose in anger and self-disgust. "I used Angelique, Josette. I don't think I meant to, but I did nonetheless. I turned away from her. I didn't love her. And even when she offered to carry on after my marriage to you I turned her away from me, because, because, no matter what sort of a family man my father may have been, I wanted to be better. I pledged myself to you, body and soul, and I meant it. But in the process I tore her apart, and I didn't mean…I didn't…I'm sorry, Josette, you don't want to hear this…"

"Well, Angelique, she was always a bit forward. What, did you think you were her first?"

"Of course not, but—"

"Well, you weren't, but you were probably her wealthiest. Oh, don't misunderstand me, Barnabas, I'm sure she thought she loved you, but really she loved the life you represented. She was not after your money, not directly—she was in love with the idea of being admired by a man of your social status. With you she felt herself more than a servant girl. If only she had realized she never needed a man to be more than a servant girl. She and I—well, I rather thought us to have a relationship similar to that of you and Ben, but I suppose I was wrong."

Barnabas chewed over this for a moment. Women, he thought. So ridiculously complicated. How could one be in love with the idea of being loved by a certain kind of person? _Well,_ he thought, _I suppose it's not all that different from being absurdly proud for courting an attractive woman._ But it was ridiculous all the same.

He decided to move onto another topic, since this one required far too much thinking. "Josette, that still doesn't change the fact that I've killed people! How can you square with that, exactly?"

"You are a predator," Josette stated simply. "Do I blame the hound for hunting the hare?"

"But I'm not a hound!" Barnabas barked. "And humans are not hares! They're people! I'm human!" He could feel the anger rising, bubbling up inside him. It wasn't directed at Josette, but he was advancing on her just the same, instinctually, in his argument against no one. "You have never seen me kill another human being…as, as a vampire, that is. You cannot tell me that you would be so naïve to be comfortable with that after watching me murder someone with my own bare hands, or fangs, for God's sake!"

"But I haven't watched you attack someone!" Josette was now quite obviously searching for something within the folds of her skirts.

"Not yet!" Barnabas was shaking now—with what, he didn't know. It wasn't fury, not at his poor Josette. It was the whole goddamn situation. It was anguish, but it was hotter than that.

"But you have enough control for that, I know you do Barnabas! You shan't ever have to kill again!"

"You think I will never slip up again? Make a mistake? That's all it would take! I would never hurt you or my family, no, I'm not that kind of man, or monster, or whatever I am. But I will most likely kill someone within the span of the centuries that stretch out before me! Centuries, Josette! Maybe millennia like this!" He was practically on top of her now, his face inches from hers, mouth set in a harsh, open grimace, fists clenched, his posture menacing. His hands flew up to grab at his hair…

…and Josette's hands flew up at the same moment, a large silver cross gleaming in them. The magical heat flashed off of it, nearly scalding him with its proximity. Barnabas hissed in pain, eyes closed against it. He threw himself around and cowered in the opposite direction, an arm thrown across his face. After a few seconds to recollect himself, he turned back to Josette slowly. The cross still resided firmly in her grasp, but it was lowered slightly. "I'm sorry," she said, shakily. "I thought it might simply slow you down, I…didn't know it would hurt you, not even touching you."

"Ah, no, it's…like a fire. Too near and it is painfully hot, touch it and it is scalding. I'm sorry, I've…never had one used on me before. Good God." He swallowed. "I knew I would be burned by religious symbols, but…God. Ha," he said, "and yet I still use His name. I doubt He spares an ear for the undead. Oh dear, I'm…sorry, Josette. And I'm so frightfully sorry for…frightening you, I don't know what came over me. I wouldn't…have hurt you, you know."

"No, you do rather seem more bark than bite, if you'll excuse the jest," she said warmly, calming.

"Ah. Yes," Barnabas said sheepishly. "I do seem to have my father's temper, don't I?"

"Yes, but he lacks the caring side that you so oft display, if my memory serves me correctly," Josette said, a smile in her voice.

"Oh, come," Barnabas said, turning serious. "He has changed, you know."

Josette smiled. "Yes, I have noticed that. What a death in the family will do to you, I say. Shall we?" she said, gesturing to the door.

Barnabas returned the smile. "We shall."

* * *

The evening meal passed relatively uneventfully, although Ben had a great struggle eating anything properly. Many light-hearted jokes were made at his expense, many inquiries made after his comfort, and the topic of Barnabas's hasty retreat was avoided entirely. The Countess Dupres was not present. It was clear she was avoiding the table of the family of in-laws she had never approved of, and not a single member of the Collins family was complaining.

After it was finished, Joshua stood and cleared his throat. "Well, I think Barnabas and I should be excusing ourselves. Barnabas?"

Barnabas stood up. Josette stood up with them. "May I join you?" she asked innocently. At their nonplussed expressions, she snapped, "Look, I know what you have been trying to do. You have been trying to scare me off. Don't look so affronted, I'm not daft. Either that, or it's been a test of my ability to handle Barnabas's vampirism. I have a feeling it's a little of both. I have seen him dead in the daylight, I have seen him rise from his coffin. I have even seen his visceral reaction to blood, which I hope was purely accidental on your part. It is my assumption that I must see him feed. I understand, and I thank you for your consideration of my future, but let's hurry this along, shall we? Barnabas and I spent a good while courting, and we were set to marry. I do not intend to be set back along that path too far because of his ailment. Whatever he has become, who he is hasn't changed all that much, and I intend to marry the man, not the condition. So let's see if I can't handle watching him drink blood, shall we? Sorry, Barnabas," she said, turning to him, "for speaking of you as if you aren't here. Where are my manners," she said flatly.

"Er…that's not a problem, no…" Barnabas seemed at an utter loss for words.

Joshua, on the other hand, felt a sigh of relief roll through him. They were on the same page. Josette really had quite changed over the last year, he noted. There really was a mind behind all of those ringlets. "Very well."

"Why don't we invite the whole family along, if this is going to be a performance?" Barnabas griped. Everyone ignored him.

Once up in Barnabas's chambers, Joshua sat down in his usual position on the side of the bed and began to unlace a cuff. Barnabas pulled a chair nearby for Josette. He then sat stiffly beside his father, staring down at his hands as he waited for Joshua to finish. Joshua surveyed him. _I don't envy you, son. I could never have imagined doing something so humiliating in front of Naomi at your age._

He proffered his wrist at Barnabas. Barnabas took hold of it gently, brought it up to his lips swiftly, and bit. Despite the gentleness of his hold, the bite was more stinging than normal—probably because he was so nervous and out of sorts. Joshua gritted his teeth and vowed not to wince at all, though. Instead, he watched Josette watching the feeding, her face frighteningly impassive. It was done in less than a minute, and Joshua laced up his cuff again. Barnabas straightened and looked pointedly at the wall, away from both Joshua and Josette.

"Well," Josette said after a moment, "all that anticipation over nothing. I was waiting to be horrified. By the way, Barnabas, you've become much neater since I stumbled across you in the woods."

Barnabas blinked. Then: "Why does everyone say that?"

Joshua said, slowly, "It is generally neater when the feeding is willing—when there is no struggle."

"Well, hopefully there will not be a struggle for a long time." Josette stood up. "Well, Barnabas, I know the night has just begun for you, but I have not yet accustomed myself to your hours. I must prepare myself for bed." With that, she quit the room.

Barnabas looked miserably at his father. "I can't tell whether to interpret her terseness as acceptance or well-hidden disgust."

Joshua sighed. "We shall see, Barnabas, we shall see. Whatever she has decided in her heart is for the best."

* * *

Josette couldn't sleep, despite her claim about her hours of repose. It was not her disgust with having watched Barnabas feed earlier that evening…quite the contrary. She was actually disturbed by her lack of reaction over watching him drink from a man's wrist. Perhaps it was because she had steeled herself so much for the horror of his condition before coming here that the reality of it actually paled in comparison to her previous nightmares. She had expected to arrive and find that the Barnabas she had fallen in love with and decided to marry was completely lost within the new monstrous instincts that had taken hold of him. She had been completely taken aback to find that, really, he had changed very little, albeit he was much more sobered, much less arrogant than he used to be. That and his body had radically altered, but it wasn't so obvious if you didn't think about the fact that he was really a corpse.

She hadn't come here wanting to rekindle their relationship. She hadn't considered it possible. She had really only meant to settle her mind, to either see Barnabas safe and well or decide that he was passed all hope. She had wanted finality. But now that she was here, she began to feel the old, blushing excitement that she had thought was gone. The romantic fluttering of the heart. Except it wasn't the same. No, this time she felt the mature glow of old, tried love in addition to that youthful excitement. She saw a life stretch out before her with Barnabas. It was by no means perfect—how could marriage with a corpse ever come near the word? But it was better than living without him. She loved him, she truly did. She did not just love the idea of being in love. She loved him through thick and thin. And, moreover, she felt that if she had been turned the vampire, he would have remained with her as well.

He was dead. He would never be able to take meals with her. He would never be able to sleep by her side (although that was optional anyway—but she had always fancied they would). He would never be able to keep the same hours as her—she would have to change for him. He would never be able to be the ideal husband—keeping up his father's business would very difficult, and most of his energies would go to dealing with his disease rather than creating the perfect home. They would not have children of their own. The ideal marriage they might have had had been completely destroyed by his disease. But she was not horrified. She was simply sad for the life they had lost.

But life with an undead Barnabas was better than a life without him. Josette sighed and got up. She wouldn't be able to sleep anyways. She crept past the room in which her aunt had holed herself up for the last few days and down to the foyer of the Old House. Throwing on a cloak and boots, she walked out into the snowy night.

* * *

Barnabas sat in the parlor, next to the fire, reading a book he had stopped paying attention to about two or three pages ago. His mind couldn't seem to leave the scene in the bedroom, the mortifying situation of having Josette watch his feeding, her blasé reaction. Suddenly, he was envisioning marriage with Josette again—a daydream (or night dream, as the case may be) he hadn't allowed himself to have for a long time. In fact, he realized, he shouldn't be allowing himself to have them now. The idea of marrying anyone, especially his dear Josette, was ridiculous. She deserved better. And yet she was willing to marry him, he knew she was. He would have used the excuse that she did not understand what a life married to him would mean, but she did—they had made sure of that. True, one could never truly understand an experience until they had lived it, and it had only been a few days, but she had the idea. And she had made clear she didn't care.

How could he avoid something he so desperately wanted himself?

There was a rapping on the window. Barnabas spun around to see none other than Josette, her sweet smile radiating through the window, her cloak drawn up to her against the flurries of snow that surrounded her. Barnabas started, then stood and gestured to the front doors, waiting for Josette to move in that direction before going himself.

"What are you doing?" he said, upon opening the doors.

"I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to wake the rest of your family by using the brass knockers," Josette said, her innocent, excited smile still plastered to her face.

"Well, you're lucky I was in the parlor," Barnabas said in exasperation. "What would you have done if I'd been up in the office?"

"I was wondering about that. Don't you have work to be done?"

Barnabas sighed. "I was in a similar predicament to you."

"You were having trouble sleeping?" Josette said teasingly.

Barnabas chuckled. "No, concentrating."

"Well, I suppose that's one good thing that comes out of vampirism. You can't suffer from insomnia."

"No, I suppose not." Barnabas smiled warmly. Then he started again. "What am I thinking? Come in, you'll catch your death of cold."

"Well, I wouldn't be alone then, would I?"

Barnabas glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Is that…how you cope with it? Making light of it? My condition, I mean."

Josette looked away pointedly. After a moment, she said, "Yes, I suppose it is. I'm sorry Barnabas."

Barnabas shook his head. "No…Josette, it's only natural that you should feel uncomfortable. It's really for the best, anyway."

Josette turned to him virulently. "For the best? Yes, I feel uncomfortable about it Barnabas. Who wouldn't? It's a horrible disease! You're uncomfortable about it! But I love you, and I'd rather live with you and your vampirism than without you at all!"

Barnabas steered her into a chair and sat opposite her. "Josette, this is ridiculous! Why, why do you want to marry me?"

"Because I love you! I loved you when you were alive and well, and I love you now! Are the feelings not returned?"

"Of course they're returned, Josette! And that is why I must not give in to them! How selfish it would be of me, to consent to marry you when it would take away any hope of happiness you might have in life!"

"What happiness? I left Martinique in happiness. I returned in shame, widowed to a man to which I never should have been married. If we must live our lives in humiliation, Barnabas, at least let us live it together in the semblance of the bliss we should have had."

"You would have returned to Martinique and eventually been married off to another wealthy, successful, most probably handsome man. When you first accepted my proposal, I was amazed. I couldn't believe it. It couldn't be right, Josette, someone as beautiful and lively as you accepting my hand in marriage. I'm…not ugly, not stupid, just…mediocre. Besides my family's money, I am the picture of mediocre. It was a miracle, the idea of being married to you. Now, the idea is simply laughable. You have so many opportunities, and I…will simply hinder you."

"Opportunities? What, to marry the right man? Because that's all the opportunity I will ever have in life, Barnabas. I'm a noblewoman. Marrying the right man is our purpose in life. You don't really think about it, because you have whatever opportunity you want. My purpose is to connect my family to money, which I've done. For all my father cares, I can remain a widow the rest of my life, since my name is already tied to your family's money now. So I can choose to do what I want. And I choose you."

"But, Josette…I sleep in a coffin! I drink blood! It's…unnatural, it's wrong, I can't marry you! I am nearly completely dependent on my family at this point. How about that?"

"Barnabas, that was always the case. Until the company falls to you, you are dependent. It's just more obvious now, because your disease makes you more vulnerable. What physical changes have taken place in you, I will live with."

"But I've killed, Josette! I lived on the streets like an animal for months! Josette, how, how…? How can you wish to marry a blood-drinking corpse? Because…because that's what I am…"

Josette leaped from her seat and came to sit by him as he stared ahead, his expression grief-stricken. "That's what you are. Who you are is Barnabas Collins. And I'm still in love with that man."

Barnabas turned to her, slowly. His eyes averted, he said. "We…we would not be able to dine together, or share a bed."

"I know."

"We wouldn't be able to take afternoon strolls together, and take the same hours."

"I know."

"There would be no children."

"No children of our own."

"I—I will outlive you."

"That's your problem, not mine. Sorry. Just don't turn me, alright? I wouldn't be thanking you for that."

Barnabas paused. "Are you sure we shouldn't wait for a time, to—to make sure this is what you want?"

"I've courted you long enough. You haven't changed _that_ much. We're not exactly rushing into marriage."

"How will we explain this to your family?"

"I belong to your family now, through your uncle. Living out the rest of my life with the family of a late husband is perfectly normal."

"And the townsfolk?"

"They know it was witchcraft that caused all the…odd events in our family. You'll 'come home from England,' we'll announce our marriage, and we'll just have to endure a few jokes at our expense. I think we've endured the worst of the humiliation, don't you?"

"I'm still technically married to Angelique."

"She's been gone for quite some time. For all they know, she's dead. At any rate, she abandoned the family, and you, so I think it won't pose a problem."

Barnabas mused for a while. "You've given this quite some thought."

"Yes, I have."

Barnabas sighed and got up. "Very well." Then he dropped awkwardly to one knee. "I don't exactly have a ring with me, as I wasn't really prepared for this, and I think the one I gave you is still on you—"

"Here it is," Josette said, smiling peevishly and taking the onyx ring off of her finger and dropping it into Barnabas's hand.

"Oh, you really did have it on you. Well, as I was going to say—" Barnabas paused and looked into the eyes of the woman that this time, hopefully he would get to spend the rest of her life with. "Josette, will you marry me?"

"You really didn't have to propose again, but my answer is still yes." Josette's smile was blinding. "I thought you'd never ask."


	14. Horizons and Happiness

"Yes, yes, Aunt Natalie, I know, I will keep in touch, don't fret," Josette said for the umpteenth time. The entire family, with the exception of Barnabas, of course, was in the foyer a couple of days later, saying their goodbyes to the Countess. Josette had, the day before, informed her of her decision to stay with the family of her late husband. She had been surprisingly receptive, although upset at the loss of her dear niece. It was for the best, staying with the family of her husband. She was a Collins woman now, by law. She was no longer her father's. In fact, the rapidity with which the Countess accepted Josette's decision was a little upsetting in itself—they might miss her, but her family didn't really want her back with them, not at her age, and what with the scandal and her being widowed. They had planned on her living in Collinsport forever, and her moving back to Martinique unexpectedly had caused somewhat of an upheaval in their lives.

"To be honest, I rather expected it when you asked to return here," Natalie said. "So did your father. Why would a widow choose to go back to the place of her husband's death so very far away if not to stay? We were expecting it, but that doesn't change how deeply we will feel your absence. Oh, and we will be sending your things along within the matter of a few months. Your father will have quite a shock when I come home."

Josette sighed. Her aunt couldn't take part in any emotional scene without bringing up some practical facet of the situation into it. She embraced her aunt once more, tightly, sincerely. "Thank you, so much, for accompanying me here, dearest Aunt. You have no idea how much it means to me."

They finally broke apart, and Natalie made her way to the waiting carriage outside the front doors. She turned one last time to look at Josette, her graying auburn hair wisping around her stern, yet somehow matronly, face. Then she turned and clambered into the carriage.

Josette watched the carriage until it had taken the path around a bend and out of sight.

"Well, that was rather a less arduous task then I expected it to be," Joshua said, coming up behind her.

"Yes, well, we had a long talk about it yesterday afternoon. She had to consider it for two hours, so I guess that's something."

* * *

An hour later Josette sat alone in the library. Everyone else was in the parlor, but she felt the need to be alone. She had just chosen between two very different lives—well, not economically, no, but very different just the same. While she felt in her heart of hearts it was the right choice, she still felt a pang at the loss of that other life—the life that took place in her childhood home, with people she had known and loved all her life.

That may have been the last time she would ever see her aunt.

"Josette?"

Josette turned around to see Barnabas in the doorway. "Oh, goodness, is it that time already?" she said, beginning to get to her feet. Barnabas was at her side before she had managed to pull herself up, and they sat back down together.

"The Countess left today, correct?" Barnabas asked softly.

Josette nodded. "I'm not sure why I'm so upset. I made the decision to make a permanent move to Collinsport last year, I'm not sure why I'm feeling so despondent now."

"What makes you think you wouldn't have been despondent saying goodbye to your aunt last year?"

"I suppose your right. Perhaps it's…" She didn't want to say there was less joyfulness awaiting her this time, because she didn't truly believe that. "Perhaps it's that I've become more jaded, that's all. I had so much energy and girlish excitement the first time we tried this, and now…now I'm just hoping it works."

"Living with me," Barnabas said flatly, not looking at her.

"No, no! I'm saying, everything was supposed to be right the first time, and everything was…left in tatters. I'm just hoping that doesn't happen again. I'm hoping the fates aren't aligned against us. Silly, I know." She sighed. "Honestly, Barnabas, I'm just missing home right now. It's perfectly normal."

Barnabas draped an arm around her shoulders. "I know. Would—would you like to be alone right now?"

"No," Josette said immediately. "Although I might change my mind at any time."

"I take it you don't want to come to dinner, then."

"Dinner? Oh, I'll come to dinner," Josette said, jumping to her feet. "There's nothing to dispel grief like a full meal."

"Truer words have never been spoken," Barnabas said with a smile.

"Never say that again. You, of all people."

"Understood. My apologies."

* * *

Alexina adjusted her cape as she approached the great front doors of Collinwood. She hesitated just a moment before lifting one of the brass knockers and rapping loudly.

The door swung open onto the face of Naomi Collins.

"Mrs. Ilmend!" she exclaimed at the same time that Alexina said, "Good evening, Mrs. Collins."

"I heard from some of the Family providers that Barnabas is looking forward to nuptial bliss."

"Ah! Yes! Do come in, Alexina." Naomi opened the door wide.

The entire family was in the parlor. Joshua was reading a book, the daughter—what was her name?—Sarah was playing a little flute, and Barnabas and his presumable lady were deep in conversation. All heads rose at her entrance.

"Mrs. Ilmend!" Barnabas said, leaping to his feet and walking over to her, hand extended. "How are you? Josette, dear, this is Alexina Ilmend, Mistress of Bangor, I told you about her, and this is Josette, my…"

"Fiancée?"Alexina said mildly, in French, her eyes on the girl. She found it amusing how the girl was staring at her without really realizing it. The girl finally snapped her mouth shut and looked away, growing pink.

"Don't worry," Alexina said in a voice she thought was kind. "Barnabas himself gaped at me like a fish when he first saw another vampire."

"You have a strange habit of reading others' thoughts," Josette said, quietly. "Is that due to your vampirism, by chance?"

Alexina was slightly taken aback at the girl's forwardness. Then she smiled. A girl after her own heart. "No. No, it's not. A few hundred years and one has to become skilled at understanding others. You shall be an interesting read, I expect."

"You expected differently before arriving here?" Josette replied, but the question held, in actuality, a statement.

Alexina paused. "There are many kinds of women who would live out their life with a member of the undead, and very few of them are an engaging read. Those rare ones who are, though, are worth burning a candle through the night."

"You make strange conversation."

"You would, too, if you had gone without the light of day for as long as I have."

"And how long is that, exactly?"

"I've never been good at arithmetic."

"Really? I hear vampires are exceptionally skilled in this area."

"One doesn't have to be good at arithmetic to count grains of rice. If it helps, my first language is Old English."

"Old…old English?" For the first time Josette faltered. "You're older than the Norman invasion?"

"Yes. I spoke English before it was sullied by the French. Anyways, I came to chastise your dear Barnabas for not inviting some of his fellow Family members to the celebration."

"Ah…well…" Barnabas began sheepishly. "It really wasn't supposed to be a public ceremony."

"Of course, because of the reaction of townsfolk and Miss Dupres's family and so on. But us? We would be the last to judge you."

"Yes…well…"

"Ah. One vampire in the house is enough?"

"No! No, that's not it at all," Barnabas said hurriedly.

"Then what is it, Barnabas?" Josette said, looking honestly intrigued.

"It's…well, Josette, it's…"

"Yes?"

"Josette, you will have no family here. Your family does not even know you are to be married. They know not that I am even alive…or, well…"

"And?"

"It simply seems rather unfair that I should have family and…friends," he said, giving Alexina a furtive glance that she understood to mean that he didn't know how to categorize his relationship with her, "to a wedding that your own parents are not even aware of." He squirmed under the gazes of his parents, who had been completely silent throughout this entire conversation.

Alexina turned her gaze back to Josette. Of course. She hadn't thought about how hard this would be for the girl. She was from…not France, some Caribbean island, one of the providers, Christopher, had said. Although she had been surprised that he had had the geographical talent to locate Collinsport. Whatever the case, Josette was very far from home…and family visits would be unlikely.

Josette opened her mouth as if to say something, closed it again as if to form her next statement in her mind, then said, "This is my family. I am a Collins woman, am I not?" She paused, then said, "Barnabas, what joy is it to be a bride if not to have a large celebration with all the accoutrements? I won't let you get out of a large wedding that easily. If half of the guests are not…exactly human, then so be it."

Barnabas sighed and turned to Alexina. "I do have a question, though. We are in need of a minister, and I'll be damned, literally, if I ask Reverend Trask to preside over the ceremony. Do you know the Master of Boston?"

"Of course. Nice young chap. Met him in Germany during the Reformation. Never thought I'd see him in the Americas. Why?" Alexina asked, intrigued.

"There is a brother of a late vampire there you might know, he's a minister. Luke Fort? He might be willing to preside. If you could pass along a request…"

"I'll do that," Alexina replied. So the family was resourceful. They'd found an ally long before she'd come along. She looked around at the family: Joshua and Naomi standing by the door, near her; Josette standing slightly behind little Sarah on the opposite side; and Barnabas and Ben standing in the middle of the room, slightly back. They might just be able to follow through on this crazy decision and make it work. The thought warmed her still heart.

* * *

_Dear Papa,_

_There is no end to the forgiveness I must ask for making the decision of a permanent move to Collinsport without even consulting you. Though I feel I followed my heart and made the most fulfilling decision, I already miss you from the depths of my heart. Before I speak of anything else, I must assure you that it is not out of any lack of love for you that I have decided to spend the rest of my days in these United States of America._

Josette paused and put her quill down. What could she possibly say in this letter? Only the first paragraph of this letter would be the truth. Beyond that, how could she say anything to him? It would all be a lie. How could she convincingly write an emotional letter to him, detailing the reasons for her decision and the life she was experiencing there? She began chewing on the end of her quill, then stopped and almost laughed at herself. It was a bad habit she had had since she'd first been taught her letters, and she could remember only a couple of years ago when she would do the exact same thing while worrying over what to write in a letter to Barnabas.

"Writing to your family?" came a voice from nearby. Josette jerked, sending a splay of ink across the paper. She turned around to look into the wide eyes of Alexina.

"Oh dear, pardon me!" the vampiress said, jumping halfway out of the seat in which she had apparently been lounging. Josette didn't even want to know how long she had been there.

"No, it's alright," Josette said, crumpling the paper and throwing it into the library's fireplace. "I'd only written a few sentences." She tried to hide her annoyance at the woman's seeming clairvoyance. Barnabas had warned her of it, and she had seen it firsthand, but it was disconcerting nevertheless.

"I do apologize for calling on your family unannounced like this," the vampire said awkwardly, after a few moments.

Josette paused and looked at her. From what she had heard so far from the rest of the family, this woman was not prone to making awkward statements. She waited, silently, feeling that she might be on the verge of understanding more about this vampire that had lived almost a millennium.

Alexina sighed; Josette realized this was just a body gesture to Mrs. Ilmend, that she didn't truly have the need to breathe. Then Alexina looked at her and said, "It will get easier."

"What will?"

"Missing your homeland."

"Ah. You would know, of course."

"Yes, but, no, it's more than that." She paused, as if searching for the right words, then said, "I have experienced both missing my homeland and missing my home time, and my heart aches much more for the tenth century than for England. England is still around; 982 isn't. Or, at least, I think that's when I was born. Believe me, I understand. But it will get easier; and always remember that Martinique still exists."

"I…I suppose I just…it would be easier if I felt as though my father knew anything about my life. I hate the fact that I am embarking on this adventure of a marriage and he will never know."

Alexina got a far-away look in her eyes, as if remembering a different time. A time so long ago, a time of serfdom, lords and ladies, she knew. A time that contrasted so sharply with the enlightened era in which Josette lived that she could not fathom it. Then she turned back to Josette with a thoughtful look. "Miss Dupres, may I recount some memories to you?"

"I…of course." Josette waited, intrigued.

Alexina began, haltingly. Although her French was still well above Josette's English, it was not quite as good as that of the highly educated Collins family. "Barnabas has told you of Melantha, yes? And her history?"

"A little," Josette said. "He didn't seem to want to encroach on her privacy, but he told me that she was forced to leave behind a husband and child upon her turning."

"Ah. Well, her story is similar to mine, except that I was more fortunate. My husband stayed with me. Of course, most of my children were already grown by then, so it was rather easier."

Josette stopped in the act of pulling out another sheet of paper and stared. This woman could only have been turned a decade older than her, at most. First millennium, ah, yes. She probably had had her first child at fourteen years of age.

"I will forever be in gratitude to Óengus." Alexina looked sidelong at Josette's confused expression, and sighed. "My husband."

"Alexina's not your given name, is it?"

"No. My given name is Wilburh. You can see why I couldn't keep it."

Josette nodded, gesturing for her to go on.

Alexina, or Wilburh, Josette thought, continued. "He knew. He knew what I had become. How many nights he consoled me after I had come home with the blood of a fellow serf all over me, or when I was despondent over my life in complete darkness. How he stood betwixt me and the mob once they came to the conclusion that his wife was not entirely dead. It was a foolish thing to do, and he would not have lived if the sun had not fallen by that time, but…he was there. I know not why, but he decided to stay by my side. And even after all these years, all these centuries, I can remember him, just as clearly as if he had just walked out of the room." She paused. "I really am not sure why I am saying this, I…I suppose I just wanted to stay that, your marriage, well, I believe it will make Barnabas, not just a better man, but…a better vampire, if that makes any sense. Vampirism is hard to live with, and having the right person beside you makes it that much easier."

"I'm not doing this out of pity, ma'am," Josette said, a hard pit growing in her stomach.

"No, no, you misunderstand," Wilburh said hurriedly. "All I am saying is that I think you have a good heart, and I am sure that Barnabas will do everything in his power to make you just as happy as you will undoubtedly make him." With that, she stood up. "Happy writing, she said, nodding at the paper in front of Josette. And then she quit the room.

Josette looked at the blank page in front of her. She couldn't imagine that a woman who carried herself with the confidence of a noblewoman was once a serf, or that such a persona would spill her life's story, or at least a condensed version, to a woman she had met only a few hours ago.

As she pondered Wilburh's words, she bent over her paper to begin a second draft.

* * *

Ben tossed and turned in his bed—an honest to God bed now, in one of the guest chambers, which was now his official quarters. For the first time today, he had been given an assignment pertaining to his new employment—he had been sent to oversee the arrival of new materials for the repairs to two of the ships. As this would take place during the day, and it was slightly beneath Joshua's position, he had been sent in Barnabas's stead. It had been very odd. Many of the townsfolk knew him, knew he was an ex-convict, and seeing him, with his low-class accent jarring against his now merchant-class attire, had brought out some very strange reactions from some of the workers. Many of them had not been able to accept his direction at first; many of them saw him as still lower than them in the hierarchical pyramid of the small port. Ben sighed and rolled over.

Fifteen minutes later he sighed again and got out of bed. Maybe something from the kitchens would calm his worries.

Lighting a candle, he walked downstairs slowly, and, as he was passing through the darkness, he heard a turning of pages. He jumped and spun around. A voice from the shadows said, "Ben, what are you doing down here?"

"You can see that well in the dark?"

"Of course. And I can smell you," Barnabas's still disembodied voice said.

"I meant the book."

"Oh."

There was silence for a while, and it was making Ben's hair stand on end. Sure, Barnabas was his friend and all, but that didn't change the fact that he was in a pitch-black room with a natural predator.

A match struck, and Barnabas's face was illuminated in the low light.

"Having trouble sleeping?"

Ben tried to ignore the predatory feel the light seemed to cast upon what was probably an honest smile of genuine concern from Barnabas. He sighed. "Yeah. Long day at work, s'pose."

Barnabas chuckled. "It always it at the shipyard, I've found." He paused, then seemed to plunge on. "Look, Ben, I…do not have words to express what a wonderful friend you have been to me."

Ben didn't know what to say. The proclamation had come somewhat out of the blue.

After waiting for an answer and receiving none, Barnabas continued, "You knew I was a monster first, before anyone else. Anyone else whose employer had turned into a vampire would have been gone in, excuse the pun, a heartbeat. But not you. And you cannot understand what that means to…to someone who…when you've been turned…"

"Beggin' your pardon, but I can," Ben interrupted. He wasn't sure what had made him say it. But now that it was out, he might as well go on. "You remember the conversation we had the night ya left? Well, I meant it. Do ya know what it means to an ex-convict to be given a free education by the son of a wealthy household? Even the common laborers at the shipyard look down their noses at me. 'At least I'm not a convict,' they think. But you, ya spent time with me, taught me to read and write against yer father's will. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, beggin' your pardon, and you became friends with an ex-convict. And ya didn't know what that meant to me back then. Now I'm thinkin' ya might now a little bit better."

Barnabas seemed to mull over this. "We've been through quite a lot together, haven't we?"

"I would say so, Barnabas." Not Master Barnabas. Barnabas.

After a few moments of silence, Barnabas said, "Ben…would you do me the honor of being my best man?"

For some reason, the question didn't surprise Ben at all. "I'd be honored."

* * *

Josette shouldn't have gone down to the pier, she knew, but she had wanted to get out of the house for a while. There was only so long she could be trapped in one building, and the cold and dreary land had begun to melt into springtime.

The wind whipping against her face felt incredible, and she closed her eyes against it, smiling. She opened her eyes again, looking at the watery blue sky. Her unadulterated enjoyment of the moment dimmed a moment when she remembered that Barnabas would never again experience this blue, but she pushed the thought from her mind.

"Josette?" The familiar voice jolted Josette out of her reverie. It was a voice she was hoping she'd never hear again. Without turning around, in a trembling voice, she said, "What are you doing here, Angelique?"

"I came to…Actually, I really don't know what I came here to do," Angelique said, flustering in that annoyingly coquettish way of hers.

"Spit it out," Josette snapped, turning around. "If I'm to have the day spoiled by you, I might as well get it over as quickly as possible."

Angelique turned stony-faced, and a touch of anger inched its way into her voice. "Look, Josette, I under—"

"You harlot! You have no idea! You have the…the gall to come back here!"

"I had the gall to do it once before, and it saved your fiancée's life!" snapped Angelique.

"Life? He doesn't have life anymore because of you!"

Angelique chose that moment to burst into tears. It took Josette utterly aback. She had never seen Angelique remotely close to tears before. When she had been somewhat younger, it had embarrassed her—how her maidservant could be so withdrawn and strong, and she, always the emotional damsel in distress. Josette wore everything on her sleeve; Angelique kept it much closer to her chest.

After a long, long five minutes of Josette trying to hide her confusion by staring down her nose at the witch, Angelique pulled herself together. Josette was glad. Every movement the witch made made Josette want to vomit. Her hatred was so visceral it was physically painful. Every facial expression, every inflection to her voice that Josette had come to know and love over the last several years in the woman now made Josette's skin crawl. The last thing Josette wanted to see was Angelique losing herself in front of her.

"Josette…I…I couldn't leave our relationship open-ended," Angelique said through noisy gulps of air.

"What relationship? Whatever friendship may have existed between mistress and servant is dead." She put emphasis on the word "servant." Angelique used to be much more to her, but the term would be a slap in the face to Angelique.

Angelique must have understood her intention, because she quieted down her sobbing immediately. "I know," she muttered. "I just…wanted to say…I'm sorry it had to end this way."

"It didn't have to," Josette responded, equally quietly.

Angelique didn't seem to know what to say to this. After a while, she said, "Please…don't tell Barnabas I came to talk to you. This is a woman's talk."

"A wife would not keep from her husband that the person who ruined his life is in proximity to him," Josette said. "I am most loyal to those I most love. Which doesn't put you in a very good position. However, I will give you a day to get as far away from him as you can."

She stared into the shockingly blue eyes, meeting them with a deep mahogany challenge. Something seemed to change, to settle. Angelique stared blankly at her, her eyes holding no challenge. "Thank you," she said. "I wish you well on your wedding day, and throughout your marriage."

"Your sentiment is appreciated," Josette said stonily. She watched as Angelique walked down the road by the harbor, waiting until she had turned a corner out of sight to turn back to the ocean.

* * *

Sarah had been sitting outside for the better part of an hour, watching the sun sink behind the trees. Earlier that day, a seamstress had fitted her for a dress she would be wearing to the wedding. It had been a gorgeous little pink thing, with many ribbons that Sarah couldn't bring herself to stop twirling around her fingers even when her mother continually slapped her hands away. Maybe her mother would let her wear it on her birthday. Her twelfth was only a couple of months away now.

She thought about all the things that had happened since last year this time. Josette's arrival, the whole mess with Josette and Jeremiah that Sarah didn't understand, her brother's sudden marriage to Angelique. Then he had died (something Sarah had known from the start, despite what her parents had thought), reappeared with what she now knew to be the blood of others all over his face. Then he had disappeared, and this time her parents had seemed to be aware of the whole situation (finally, she'd wondered when they'd ever figure out that Barnabas was still hanging around). Then her father had gone looking for him, although he had given her brother an awful head-start, in her opinion. Then she'd found that, of all things, her brother was a vampire. And then Josette had come back. And now they were getting married again. All of the adults in the house seemed to be very stressed out about it. Sarah was just confused as to why it had taken them so long to sort things out.

She heard footsteps behind her, and spun around.

Her brother stood in the doorway, looking at her with a frank, contented smile. He didn't seem to realize it, but his fangs were peeking out from under his upper lip. Sarah covered a snort. She was starting to realize how sensitive he was about anything to do with his vampirism, so she didn't mention it. Instead, returning the smile, she said, "Good evening, Barnabas!"

"Good evening, my dearest little sister," he said, sitting down next to her and placing her on his lap. He put his head over one of her shoulders so that his cool cheek was pressed up against hers.

Sarah giggled. "Why are you so cuddly tonight?" she teased, leaning into him.

"Because," Barnabas said quite matter-of-factly, "I am getting married tomorrow, and it's just dawned on me that I have the perfect parents, the perfect friends, the perfect bride, and the most perfect sister I could ever ask for." With this he squeezed her a little harder.

Sarah giggled again. "Stop it! Some of us still need to breathe!"

Barnabas loosened his embrace. He sighed. "Have I told you how proud I am of the little lady you're growing up to be?"

"Are you sure Father didn't offer your provider tonight a little too much sherry before he fed you?"

Barnabas smiled. "Were you enjoying the sunset?"

"Yes, it was very pretty. It was pink tonight."

"Red sky at morning, sailors take warning, red sky at night, sailor's delight," Barnabas recited.

"But I'm not a sailor."

"No, but—it's a phrase."

"So?"

"I—what?"

Sarah sighed. "Barnabas, I'm glad you're here."

Barnabas looked out at the night sky for a few moments. Then, with a smile, he said, "I'm glad I'm here too."


	15. Epilogue

"Watch it! Watch it!" Barnabas yelled, grabbing onto the dashboard of the old Toyota.

"I am watching it," Katherine grumbled, jerking the car around a corner.

"You're too close to the curb. Look straight down the road. Don't look at the end of the hood."

"Why do you always have to yell? You're distracting me!"

"I'm yelling because you're going to get yourself killed!"

They were still arguing as they rolled into the long drive that led up to Collinwood. Katherine slammed the door in a huff before Barnabas had even reached for the car handle. That little—teaching her how to drive had to be one of the most nerve-wracking things Barnabas had gone through in almost a century. As he opened the door and got out, he opened his mouth to rail on at her as she marched up the marble steps to the double front doors, then stopped.

She stood there, framed in the front porch light, his great-great-great-great-some-more-greats granddaughter. For a brief moment, he was taken back to over two-hundred years ago, when one of the workers, a widowed father, had been taken by illness. Horrible as it was, Josette and he (several years married at that point) had jumped at the chance to take the two young children in who had been orphaned that day, had, in lieu of any forthcoming blood-relatives ready to take custody of them, raised them as their own children and gifted their entire inheritance to them. They had been his children, he had loved them as a father. Endless nights he had worried to Josette throughout their younger years that it was dangerous, having children in the house with a vampiric parent. But no harm had ever come. They had grown, married, and eventually passed away, hitting Barnabas for the first time, even after Josette's death, with what immortality truly meant. The following years had been some of the darkest for him as he pondered what it meant to live through the centuries, but he had eventually decided to continue existing. After all, how many fathers, biological or not, got to see two centuries of their family? The deaths were coming easier, if not any less painful, now. And now, at the dawn of the new millennium, he was teaching one of his many ancestors, an ancestor of the line that had remained in Collinwood, how to drive.

Even after all of these centuries, not one of them was the same. Katherine was unique, unique in the way that a girl born only a couple of years before the turn of the millennium is. Every generation had its own quirks, and Barnabas had enjoyed all of them, although he retained a certain fondness for the late eighteenth century. The line that had stayed in Collinwood knew his nature; it was a secret passed down through that line in particular. With some of the family-by-law he had to be careful, but that also changed from generation to generation. Katherine knew, and she always delighted in showing him her history textbooks and making insulting or embarrassing remarks about colonial America to get a rise out of him. Barnabas had to admit he quite enjoyed it; it was funny to think that his youth was considered very historical now. And to see the country the United States had become! Barnabas wasn't always sure if he liked the end result, but nevertheless, it was an astounding change in such a relatively short period of time. And the world at large! The Industrial Revolution, automobiles, and space! And computers! Who would have thought? It was incredible!

Katherine was tapping her foot impatiently. "Gramps, you've got the keys."

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Barnabas lifted himself out of the seat of the car.

A crunch on the gravel drive made Barnabas's head swivel around. Out of the perpetual Maine mist came a figure of a dark-haired woman wearing a prairie skirt and what Barnabas knew to be a self-knit sweater. "Melantha! What are you doing here?" Barnabas said warmly.

"Sorry for not giving you a call first. My phone decided to die while I was at work."

"Melantha, work doesn't start for you until an hour from now. You're a vampire, remember?"

"I—oh, I forgot Katherine knows, doesn't she. It's hard to keep all the family members straight! Wasn't it only a few years ago one of your in-laws wanted to report you to the authorities?"

"That was in 1927, Melantha."

"Oh, right. Well—look, how about we go inside?"

"Of course. Is something bothering you?"

"Kind of. Maybe. I mean, I'm really happy about it, but it's bothering me."

"O…kay. Yes, let's go inside." Barnabas made his way to the great double doors.

Once inside the foyer, Melantha peered around and said, "Where is everybody?"

"Dad's off with Sophia, on a trip to a college. Mom's on a business trip," Katherine supplied. "Grandpa Barn is watching me to make sure I don't throw parties, have sex and smoke pot."

"She's doing fairly good so far," Barnabas commented.

"I've gotta be the only kid who would have to throw parties during the day for no one to find out about it," Katherine snarked.

"About what I wanted to talk to you about," Melantha interrupted, "you know how I've been searching for my descendants for years?"

"Yes?" Barnabas said, with rising excitement.

"Well, I'm pretty dead-sure I've found them."

"Melantha—Melantha, I—I don't know what to say! That's—that's wonderful. What do you intend to do? I mean, you can't just—just walk up to them and say you're their great-great-great-great-great grandma. I mean—well…"

"I don't know. I don't know yet. But the line I found is living in Tucson right now. I was going to take a red-eye, to see them. I don't know what I'll tell them. Maybe that I'm a cousin from England or something."

"Ha. Your accent is so malleable. It adapts so well. I must be at least a generation behind you. You might as well just say you're from the North East. Arizonians will probably see it as just as foreign as Britain. But please—drive out there. Flights are dangerous for vampires."

"Red-eye?"

"What if it gets delayed? Or something of that nature. There's no escaping the sunlight in a jet!"

Melantha sighed. "Fine. But I'm taking your car out there."

"Why? Look, Melantha, you've got a—"

"So that you're forced to come with me. I don't want to do this alone."

"Oh, and who am I? Your brother? Your live-in? I don't think so."

"I don't care! I just—please? Josette would understand."

It was Barnabas's turn to sigh. Melantha knew when to use Josette and when not to. Not in an argument. But during friendly persuasion, it was alright—and it worked. "Fine. But you're going there alone. This is supposedly your family. I'll wait with the Tucson Family. And I'll call ahead, make sure they know what's going on. God knows how they live with all the never-ending sun down there."

"Thanks, Barnabas."

Barnabas smiled. "Not a problem. Two hundred years of friendship will make you susceptible to the stupidest decisions."

Melantha gave a chuckle. "Well, I'll be going then. How does this weekend sound?"

"Sounds good. I'll warn Stephan I'll be backed up on the paperwork for the cannery."

"Oh, good. Uh—who's Stephan again?"

"Katherine's father. Stephan Collins. Remember?"

"Oh. Got it. I'm sorry, there are too many generations to keep track of!"

Barnabas sighed with a smile. " _Goodbye_ , Melantha."

"TTFN."

"Oh, my God, do not say that again," Katherine said. "You're better off sticking with colonial talk like Grandpa."

Melantha turned to the teenager and stuck out her tongue somewhat awkwardly past her notable canines. Then she turned around and pranced out the door.

Barnabas sighed for the third time. "Katherine, why? She's insane."

Katherine didn't answer, but said instead, "Hey, aren't some of your sister's descendants down in Pheonix?"

Barnabas frowned. "I think so. But they're pretty far removed now. I send them a card around Christmastime."

"Oh, who cares? Crash their house for an evening. It'll be nice for you to see what little Sarah's great-great-lots-of-greats-grandkids are doing."

"Sarah wasn't so little by the end. She got to be a sweet, plump old matron who could strike fear into the hearts of little hooligans."

"You know what I mean."

Barnabas smiled and opened his mouth to reminisce on his long dead sister when a knock sounded from the front doors. Both Collinses paused and looked at it. "Who would be calling at this time of night?" Katherine said.

"Probably Melantha worrying herself sick over something again." Barnabas heaved himself out of the chair and went to open the front door.

The person outside wasn't Melantha. Instead, the caller was a middle-aged woman in a business suit with strict auburn hair that fell slightly past her chin and an even stricter expression. For some reason she looked familiar.

And then it hit Barnabas. She looked like a carbon-copy of Natalie Dupres, all those years ago.

"Ah…may I help you, Cou—ma'am?"

There was a twinkle in the woman's eye and a certain amount of mischief to her tone as she said, "Yes, I do believe you can. I am Dr. Julia Hoffman, and I am researching a rare disease. This is the residence of a Mr. Barnabas Collins, is it not?"

"Well…sort of," Barnabas conceded.

"Are you Barnabas Collins?"

"Ye-es," Barnabas said suspiciously. "Why?"

"Don't worry, I've already talked it all over with that Ilmend woman, and she's sending me to every member of the Family. I'm here to study your vamp—"

"Jesus, keep your voice down, woman!" Barnabas said, and swung the door wide open. So, Alexina sent a crazy witch-doctor over to his house. That seemed like something she would do.

As they entered the parlor/living room, Barnabas waved Katherine away, "Sweetie, could you give us some privacy for a moment?"

Katherine gave him a meaningful glance, looked at the doctor, and turned away to traipse up the stairs in that singular teenager way. Barnabas turned back to look at the doctor. At second glance, she was quite an attractive lady. She had certainly aged well. _Oh, God, when did I ever start to think of Natalie Dupres as attractive? Since you became three times as old as she ever was, that's when,_ he answered himself. "So, you want to know about vampirism?" he said, picking up an opaque glass full of blood that he had left sitting on one of the end tables a few days before. Stephan was always harping on him about that. Barnabas was never truly worried about people finding out about his nature these days. No one would believe the few kooks who did accept the existence of vampirism.

"Yes. I believe I can create a cure if I have access to enough test subjects."

Barnabas nearly spit out a mouthful of blood. Recovering himself, he said, "My dear doctor, many people have said that to me and my fellows, and not one of them has been able to rid us of the curse."

"Well, no, of course not with magic. I'm talking about science."

Barnabas tried to cover a snort at this. This would be very interesting. Ah, well, he could use the change of pace. And honestly, in the long run, he really didn't too much care what the adverse effects of whatever tests this "doctor" might perform on him. He'd had a long wonderful, life, and what an interesting way it would be to go out. Whatever the case, he would look forward to it. "Before I consent to having experiments done on me, may I ask you about some particulars, Dr. Hoffman?"

"Of course! I'd be happy to answer any questions you have." The doctor looked positively delighted, which concerned Barnabas just slightly.

As the doctor began to blabber on about a bunch of scientific/medical terms Barnabas didn't understand, Barnabas smiled to himself and thought upwards to his sister, parents, Ben, and late wife, _Thank you. Thank you so much. For everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thanks everyone for sticking with me!!


End file.
